


Stunt Rider vs Biker: Hellfire

by clickclickBANG



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AKA, Action, Actor AU, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Marvel Cinematic Universe Fusion, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Banter, Biker Reaper, But Jack is a smug charming little jackass who keeps throwing off Gabe's vibes, Don't try this at home kids, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Flirting, Gabriel just wants to do his kickass stunts, HOW IS THAT NOT A REAL TAG, Halloween, I'm insulted, I'm the only person to use that tag, Immortal 76, M/M, Magic, Movie AU, Movie magic, Owl Sorcerer Reaper, Psuedo-70's, Rival Relationship, Rivalry, Rivals to Lovers, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Slow Burn, Stunt Performers, Stunt Rider: 76, Stunt rider AU, Thanks Vape, The AU literally no one but Vapewraith asked for, The AU where at least one or two in-game skins are "canon", Tlacatecolotl Reaper, Witchcraft, music references, oh good, pop culture references, quite uh literally, technomagic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 16:25:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12585924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clickclickBANG/pseuds/clickclickBANG
Summary: [Sometimes, "movie magic" isveryliteral.]There are those, like, "semi-mythical horror stories" that you hear about old Hollywood rivalries - you know the kind I'm talking about.  So-and-so didthis, so their rival didthat. Well...sometimes, those myths aretrue.This is thetotally true, totally "platonic"story of the rivalry between former FMX champion and stunt performer Gabriel Reyes and his team's "newest recruit" Jack Morrison - an unknown, untried, untested smartass motorcycle stunt rider from nowheresville. But whatwasn'tcaptured on camera for audiences to see -Was the magic that was also sparked between them.[When you play with hellfire, you're bound to get burned.]





	1. The Trailer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Trailer voiceover narration]: 
> 
> IN A WORLD OF UNEXPECTED DANGERS...
> 
> ONE TECHNOMAGE FROM DORADO...
> 
> WILL FIND THE OPPORTUNITY OF A LIFETIME...
> 
> AS ONE OF THE GREATEST STUNTSMEN AND ACTION DIRECTORS IN THE WORLD...
> 
> RECRUITS HER INTO HIS TEAM OF ACTION MOVIE HELLRAISERS AND DAREDEVILS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, uh.
> 
> Welcome to the AU no one (but Vapewraith) asked for.
> 
> Is it the _weirdest_ AU you've ever read? ...Probably not. Is it the strangest combination of ideas and concepts you've ever read?
> 
> It might be??
> 
> The basic equation, as far as I can hack it, is something like:
> 
> "Stunt Rider AU" + "Witchcraft and Magic AU" + "(Fake) 1970's Hollywood AU" = "??????????"
> 
> I'm taking a calculated risk here but MAN
> 
> Am I bad at math.
> 
> \---
> 
> For those of you who know My (Cheesy) Aesthetic, there are song links as URLs throughout the fic.
> 
> \---
> 
> [PLEASE READ]: I have done my best to tag things as-is. Once a major plot point drops, a few new tags will be added. These are Mythology-related and NOT based on smut, kinks, or anything explicit.

**Augmented: Rookie**

October 1, 2076: 1:34 pm - driving down a highway in Los Angeles

 

It has been the _wildest_ four months of Sombra’s entire life.

When she looks back on it, she realizes that she barely remembers anything distinct - just a blur of energy and excitement and a rush of adrenaline from the very beginning.

Well, okay.

That’s not _entirely_ true.

There’s at least one or two moments that stand out in particular.

The first: when her American “gunslinger” stunt performer friend Jesse McCree called her up one lazy Saturday in early June, that languid, wry smirk on his face, to tell her that his stunt team leader had watched her latest spy thriller action movie and wanted to get in contact with her for her stunt reel.

And the second:

When said stunt leader had actually called her via holo-projection two days later.

One of the most prolific stunt performers of the last two decades, legendary second-unit director among those in the movie-making business, and, more recently, a box-office-smashing scriptwriter and director for the crazy, action-packed comedy horror “Junkenstein’s Revenge” -

Gabriel Reyes himself.

Sombra had remembered being _so goddamn nervous_ that she actually had to practice speaking English all day beforehand, even though she _is completely fluent in the language_ , but her brain felt _fried_ before the interview had even started, jumping from one thought in Spanish to a rambling thought in English to a few jittery phrases in Nahuatl to even a few strings of code and equations, cursing herself in multiple languages for not _chilling the hell out_.

And when the call had started ringing, Sombra had tried to stretch out her fingers, put on the biggest, friendliest smile she could manage, pressed the answer button and -

That immediately recognizable face - now synonymous with one of the biggest “new movie franchises” in the last five years - had appeared in the projection: deep, rich, elegant skin, with multiple scars across his cheekbones, lips, forehead; a trim but somehow rugged beard of dark, thick brown hair; and -

Eyes that _glowed_ like gold light through the thinness of obsidian knives, molten smoke crystallized into liquid glass form -

Sombra had felt her whole body _freeze_ but then -

“Oh _shit_ ,” Gabriel had mumbled on like six french fries in his mouth, as the camera on his end had shaken and rattled slightly.

Sombra had felt something in her...kinda die

As one of her major stunt performing heroes and icons had struggled to swallow his lunch.

“God _damn_ , Reyes,” Gabriel had muttered to himself, slightly off-camera, the holo-projection showing his chest and part of his arms as he’d grabbed something and adjusted something else.  With another rattle and a thud, the legendary stunt performer-turned-director had slumped himself in his chair, hastily wiping his mouth as he said apologetically, “Look, I’m real sorry about that - I’ve got one helluva busy day today and thought I could cram in lunch before your interview.”

“...If,” Sombra had replied, caught between bewilderment, hysterics, and a nervous breakdown, “If you need to eat, you can.”

“Nah, no, I’ll just shove the rest down my throat in the car to my next thing after this,” Gabriel had answered, rubbing at an exhausted eye with his right hand as his left had tapped at something on his computer.  There had been a brief moment of silence and Sombra had been on the verge of shouting something in a language - she hadn’t known which would come out of her mouth in that very second - until -

“Thanks for taking my call today, Olivia,” Gabriel had said abruptly, before glancing at her with a raised eyebrow, “Is Olivia okay?”

“Ah, um, yeah!” Sombra had stumbled, “Most of my friends call me Olí or my stage name of ‘Sombra -’”

“Oh shit,” Gabriel had muttered, but his whole face had lit up with _bright, radiant wonder_ \- almost too dazzling to look at - as he had beamed, “‘Sombra’ might be the most _kickass_ stage name I’ve ever heard.”

Sombra usually considered herself pretty quick on her feet

But this had left her _utterly speechless_.

She had watched, with a small part of her augmented brain fully aware that she was _gawking_ awkwardly in front of one of Hollywood’s greatest, but Gabriel hadn’t even seemed to notice, as he’d rambled on, “Makes sense, I guess - you’ve got some of the greatest action scenes I’ve seen in a longass time.  That underwater fight sequence in _Camarón Que Se Duerme_ was _art_ \- Guerra was the stunt coordinator for the movie, right?  I haven’t spoken to him in a while, but I was _shocked_ to see him coordinate something that technical while maintaining the visual aesthetics -”

“Actually -” Sombra had managed to croak out weakly, “It was me.”

Gabriel had scowled, and Sombra had nearly jumped out of her skin at the look, but the stunt team leader had just asked in confusion, “What?”

“Me,” Sombra had continued, “I coordinated the scene.”

Gabriel’s scowl of confusion had softened, but a look of keener, sharper interest had taken form in his gaze, as he had folded his arms and settled into his seat, saying calmly, “Can you explain what you mean by that?”

“Well,” Sombra had exhaled, breathing out slowly to calm her nerves, “Director Cortes and Coordinator Guerra had an idea for the underwater scene, but I had to explain to them that it wasn’t...hmm, that it wouldn’t _flow_ right, with the sequence that they originally had.”  Sombra had made a gesture with her right hand, showing a slicing motion with an “air knife,” continuing, “They wanted a lot more big, slashing motions, for the reduced gravity effect and the water bubbles, but I showed them that was a bigger waste of energy for the diver than quick jabs and twists.”  Sombra had motioned the jab, and then had flicked her wrist to show the twisting motion.

Gabriel had sat, listening quietly as she’d launched into more of an explanation, feeling her mind steady into a roll that she knew well at this point, “But we did not want to lose how dramatic the scene was supposed to be, so that was when I suggested switching the time of the scene to a full moon night.  Because my character Lucia was trying to escape the enemy spies by diving into the cenote, we could use the natural lighting plus the enemy spies’ flashlights to have a really strong visual effect.”

“Did you use your magic on that scene?”

Sombra’s roll had crashed to a halt, as she’d glanced up at him, looking a little guilty and -

Gabriel had just _grinned_.

“Look, I don’t get to interview people unless I know _they_ know what my team is about,” he had explained, smiling surprisingly genuinely, “But that _does_ work both ways - you want the opportunity to join the Hellfire Stunt Team, you have to be upfront and honest with every team member about what your craft is.  Jesse told me that he knows yours, but he said you explain it better than he ever could.”

 _...What a liar_ , Sombra had thought sarcastically, knowing full well that Jesse had probably used that line to give Sombra more to discuss during the interview.

She had not been ungrateful.

“...I am a Smoking Mirror diviner and technomancer,” Sombra had replied quietly, wondering if it was foolhardy to trust a man she’d never met who - if the rumors spoken in the shadows of the world were true - had the ability to cast his rivals and enemies straight to Mictlan.

Still, lying to him had to be an even worse idea.

“Oh, no shit - a _tlaciuhqui_ ,” Gabriel had exclaimed excitedly, catching Sombra _completely_ off-guard.  The stunt performer had grinned, “My father’s family are _nagualli_ and _tlatlacatecolo_ from Central Mexico, so part of our patronage is to the Lord of the Smoking Mirror.”

“Do you transform?” Sombra had stammered, completely stunned that an “owl-man” - a sorcerer-assassin skilled in stealth, poison, dark magics, and enchantments - had just... _revealed_ himself like that to her.

Over a fucking video interview.

“Not very often,” Gabriel had said, as casually as if they were still talking about stunt performances, “I use my enchantments for protective measures far more than my predecessors did.”  And then -

He had made a deadpan, unimpressed expression, muttering dryly, “When your stunters are busy trying to stop bullets with katanas ‘ _just fer shits ‘n giggles, jefe_ ’...you get used to it.”

“...I take it Jesse is involved in that?” Sombra had asked wryly, not even needing to use her divination senses, which had gotten a crooked, smug smirk from Gabriel as he had wheezed, “Holy _shit_ , you know him so well.  But moving on - tell me more about your technomancy.  Lots of flickering lights and all that jazz?”

“Ha, well,” Sombra had grinned right back, “It is _much_ more impressive than just turning off lights - I can hack anything...or anyone.”

Gabriel had leaned back again, muttering with a low whistle, “Hefty claim there, kid.”

“I keep my services only to those who know me,” Sombra had admitted, before smirking again, “But pay the right price, and well...rivals and enemies may find their digital lives much, _much_ more complicated.”

“ _How_ much more complicated?” Gabriel had asked coolly, “Like, annoying pop up status or something bigger?”

Sombra had tapped a finger to her lips, considering keeping quiet but -

 _All business is good business_ -

Instead, she had smiled deeply, darkly, her eyes briefly flashing a silky, shadowy purple as she’d intoned:

“...I take it you know what happened to LumériCo’s CEO last year?”

Gabriel had scowled in concentration, trying to remember, but then his eyes had gone wide, looking at her in _utter disbelief_ and _horror_ , murmuring, “Holy _hell_ …”

Sombra had twisted her right index finger into a straight line, smirking as she shushed, “A secret for you, _señor tlacatecolotl_ \- consider it an exchange of information.”

“...A favor, huh?” Gabriel had replied quietly, before smirking back, “Alright, technomancer, I like your style on and off the screen, and you’ll get no shortage of ‘side work’ here in LA - you wanna try a shot at the big leagues?”

Several languages had vied in Sombras head for control, but all of them had screamed “YES.”

The next few months had been a whirlwind of activities and events and planning - looking for an apartment in the San Fernando Valley, trying to figure out how to move all her stuff, acquiring a work visa with Gabriel’s help.  Jesse had tried to be helpful, offering her the second bedroom in his apartment, but Sombra had to decline, telling him teasingly, “All your tobacco affects my head, _amigo_.”  Eventually, she managed to work it out with another international member of the Hellfire Team, the famous French actress Amélie Lacroix, although, from what Gabriel had said, Amélie was...quite reluctant to share her Los Angeles home with another person.

“I need to remember to thank her,” Sombra had said as they’d gotten into Gabriel’s car at LAX.  Gabriel had given Sombra a skeptical look, before muttering, “...I’d recommend holding off on that.”

“... _Why_?” Sombra had asked, genuinely confused.  As he’d pulled the car forward from the parking lot, Gabriel’s expression had looked...mixed, caught between contemplation and bittersweetness, murmuring, “Amélie has...a very _unique_ sense of gratitude.  Just...if you’re gonna shower her in compliments, make sure it’s when she’s three glasses deep in a bottle of wine.”

And then his face had slipped into a dead look as he’d added, “Or else you’ll wake up with hundreds of spiders in your bed.”

“... _¿Qué carajos?_ ” Sombra had snapped, looking _horrified_ , but Gabriel had perked up, asking, “Moving on - you want some lunch or something?”

So now

Here they are -

Sombra stuffing her face full of fries as Gabriel slurps on a strawberry milkshake, weaving through the dense traffic of the Valley as they make their way over to the Hellfire Team’s “headquarters,” with Gabriel telling her about the mishaps and misadventures of trying to film “Junkenstein’s Revenge” in the Black Forest of Germany two years ago.  Sombra almost _chokes_ on a fry as the fried potato and laughter war for control of her throat as Gabriel half-coughs, half-wheezes:

“- So at this point, we’re all _dying_ because we’re so _goddamn lost_ in the forest - I swear, I had to stop Mako and Jamison from setting the whole fucking forest on _fire_ like, four or five times that day alone - and Ana is legit writing letters to her daughter like, ‘My dearest Fareeha - your mother is gonna _die_ in these damn woods.’”

The thought of legendary stunt artist and “super sniper” Ana Amari trying to write a last will and testament to her daughter as the famous Kiwi and Aussie stunters are fanning flames behind her gets Sombra to start choking on tears and laughter again -

“ _Meanwhile_ ,” Gabriel continues, also practically sobbing in the driver’s seat, “Angela _keeps insisting_ that ‘she’s a witch of the wylds’ - _she’s got this shit_ , she’s telling us, but the trees ain’t fucking talking to her because the trash kids keep trying to burn them the fuck down -”

“ _Ay, jefe, no más, por favor_ -” Sombra cries, wiping some of her tears with a napkin, but Gabriel is unrelenting, killing her with humor and kindness and _awful stories_ as he keeps going:

“Jesse is being an unhelpful dick _as usual_ \- he keeps taking the smoldering ashes from the trash kids when I’m not looking and trying to build goddamn smoke signals out of them, so now I got _three_ fuckin’ problem children to wrestle with, and Jack’s too busy trying to argue directions with Reinhardt because Reinhardt keeps insisting we ‘need to go to ze Old Man of ze Trees boulder’ that’s supposed to be north, but Jack is like ‘THEN WHY DO WE KEEP WALKING WEST, REIN??’”

Sombra curls up into a ball around her seatbelt, as Gabriel shakes his head, muttering, “Now, _you wouldn’t believe it_ , but Hanzo - motherfucking J-drama star Hanzo goddamn Shimada -”

“Yeah?” Sombra asks, encouraging him to keep going, and, after making sure his turn is clear, Gabriel glances at her, completely deadpan, saying in the driest, most unaffected tone ever:

“Nothing.  Absolutely _nothing_.”

“ _WHAT_ ,” Sombra gasps, and Gabriel lifts a hand, gesturing his disbelief as he mutters, “Legit, Hanzo was just the _chillest_ person the whole time.  We’re on the verge of burning the whole forest down, but the dude’s just sitting in the middle of our camp area sipping hot fuckin’ green tea in this frickin’ samurai kneel, completing ignoring _everything_ \- I _swear_ , at one point Jamison almost accidentally doused him in gasoline and Hanzo _didn’t even flinch_ -”

“I don’t believe it,” Sombra wheezes, and Gabriel shakes his head, saying with a wry chuckle, “You know what he told me?  I was like, ‘Dude, you wanna _help_ ,’ and he just looked up at me and _deadass said_ , ‘Only death can help these fools.’”

“ _MIERDA_ ,” Sombra howls, giggles shaking her in her seat.  Gabriel gestures emphatically, stating, “I ain’t even ask him to do anything else after that.  I was _terrified_ of even breathing next to him.”

“So how did you even find the castle??” Sombra asks eagerly.  Gabriel grins, laughing, “Alright, so on the fourth day of this dysfunctional mess, a goddamn nature Bastion walks into camp, and it just is like, ‘What the hell are you guys doing here.’  And there we are, looking like _complete wrecks_ , and this fucking biologist looks at us and straight up tells us, ‘You are completely ruining the auditory biosphere of the forest with your noise levels.’”

“ _God_ ,” Sombra hacks, and Gabriel shakes his head, saying, “So Jack goes up to it and is like, ‘Please, we’re trying to find Eichenwalde Castle for a movie - Germany gave us permission to film there, but we’ve been lost for four days.’  And - _I shit you not_ \- the Bastion just looks at him and goes, ‘...You know it is about two hundred meters east of here, right?  You probably walked past it.’”

“NO,” Sombra replies, aghast, and Gabriel gives a cringe-smirk, laughing brightly, “You can _bet_ Reinhardt was grateful to be a paladin because he needed _every protective spell_ in his repertoire to save him from the whole team.”

Sombra hiccups a few times as Gabriel pulls into the industrial area near the edge of Los Angeles proper.  She munches on a few more fries as Gabriel cruises them past giant warehouses and shipping centers, the massive buildings full of construction companies or tech suppliers, but she also spots some interesting businesses like a set designer guild and a prop corporation.

Gabriel rounds the hovercar into the lot in front of a large warehouse that is almost entirely unmarked except for a large circular logo on the industrial garage door.  There are several other hovercars, but also multiple motorcycles and a couple pick up trucks in the lot.  As he guides the car into a reserved spot in the front, Gabriel says in a more businesslike tone, “As you’re probably aware, Hellfire is one of two major stunt teams under the Strike Stunt Team Association.  We split the warehouse as a training facility and even a mechanical set production bay with our sister group, Watchlight.  We’re effectively all one big team, but Morrison and I broke the organization in two for easier management - we’ve got almost 30 agents and associated performers across multiple countries, so keeping it organized through the growth spurt the last few years was a big priority.”

“What’s the difference between them?” Sombra asks curiously as Gabriel parks the car and shuts it off.  Gabriel scowls, thinking it over before grinning mischievously, “You could say it’s some dumbass pride for two old stunters at this point.”

Sombra arches an eyebrow at that.

“In reality, even though the paperwork is all the same, it’s a matter of who recruits who,” Gabriel admits, but smirks again, “Because I’ll die before I let that jackass one up me, even in recruitment.”

“Uh,” Sombra asks hesitantly as Gabriel grabs all their trash and wedges his door open.  Sombra follows suit, pushing the passenger side open and stepping out.

“Are we talking about, um, Morrison still?” Sombra says, moving to the backseat of the car - she cracks the door open and grabs her carry-on duffel (most of her stuff is already in Lacroix’s apartment, but this is all her extra gear plus flight supplies).

“The one and only,” Gabriel huffs, but there’s still a sly smirk on his face.  She shuts the door and he locks the car, sighing with blatantly fake sadness, “Buuuuut if you _want_ to switch to the Watchlight team, I won’t _stop_ you -”

 _Is he a **child**_ , Sombra thinks, but she laughs, “I only just got here - at least give me a day before I decide to jump ship.”

“Oh _wow_ , okay, I see how it is,” Gabriel teases her right back, heading up the ramp to the regular entrance door, Sombra following after him.  He drops his jovial tone for that professional, veteran performer voice again, saying clearly but calmly, “Anyways, on a more technical level, Hellfire tends to focus more on training and building stunt sequences, while Watchlight does more of the production ends of things - we try to get all of our performers to be familiar in multiple aspects of filmmaking, so you’ll get experience in cinematography, set building, stunt coordinating, location scoping, the editing process, the whole shebang.”

Gabriel punches the passcode into the electronic lock, before glancing over his shoulder at her and -

Sombra _scowls_ -

Because Gabriel’s gilded-smoke eyes briefly _glow_

Like a flake of obsidian backlit by _fire_

As he murmurs in a low, vivid, wry tone:

[“After all, stunting is about the magic of creating heroes and villains.”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0CFuCYNx-1g)

The door slides open, and Gabriel strides in easily but

Sombra

pauses.

Reyes had been radiating an _other_ aura the whole time, but he’d kept it lowkey, dimmer, toned down and in, like muffling a cough.  But here, on the edge of the threshold to the stunt team warehouse -

She can _feel_ it.

It’s not... _dangerous_ , not outright, nor is it sinister, but it is... _different_ \- a flare of invisible fire she isn’t used to, a light that cannot be seen, a radiance that is dark in its beautiful brilliance, a shine like a breath.

It is

adventure incarnate

thrill alive

a sheer joy that revels in its own existence

happiness in the free fall

a love of life itself.

Sombra

_stills_

and then

_inhale-exhales_

and steps inside.

The protective barriers - and there are _a lot_ of them, _mierda_ \- pass across her senses like several waves of shivers, up and down up and down, and then, she’s inside, across the threshold, entered a world where unreality and surreality are interwoven into the space and the place.

Sombra looks around -

It’s a giantass gym.

They’re in the southwestern corner, where the floor is still cold concrete - the unmatted section runs the full 15 meters of the “width” of the building, down to the northwestern corner where it twists into a hallway that must connect to the rest of the facilities.  Two meters over, the gym itself starts, with cushioned wrestling matting covering the floor for most of the 30 meters the room extends east.  The area is mostly empty, but there are interesting details even in the large “sparring section:” mirrors along both walls, a massive trampoline in one part, lots of stunt cable wires hanging from sturdy, industrial walkways close to the top of the 6 meter high ceiling, several, kinda beat up test cameras positioned in different places, and _tons_ of different types of lights.  In the far corner, covering the last stretch of meters to the end of the warehouse room, is a true gym, with multiple machines and weights, though Sombra spots a small, organized “arsenal” of prop weapons (swords, staves, fake guns, whips, hammers, axes, everything) against the far wall.

And in the center of the matted, open sparring area

Is a goddamn demon-masked _ninja_ fighting a young woman.

Sombra gawks as the ninja _rushes_ at her, moving so fast she can barely track him - the female stunt performer, however, doesn’t even _flinch_ , flicking a bit of her choppy brown hair casually as he _swipes_ in but -

Sombra blinks.

The brunette stunt performer is _gone_ -

Only she reappears a second later in a “blip” of bright blue light, laughing gleefully as she playfully whaps her right forearm against the dude’s back, saying loudly in a Cockney accent, “You gotta be faster than that, luv -!”

But the ninja _is_ faster than she thinks

As he launches himself backwards, up over her, gracefully placing one hand on the top of her head before he lands back on the other side, throwing a light jab at her lightly padded chest “armor.”  The “time-skipper” oomphs loudly but whips up her left hand to block his second jab quickly, teasing him, “Just in time!”

“Come on, Oxton!” the ninja says tauntingly, his voice rippling with an odd vibration that catches Sombra’s ear in an _off_ way - _enchanted?  Enhanced?  Cybernetic?  Otherworldly?_ she thinks - before the ninja flexes in a quick kick.  “Oxton” blocks it with a swift jolt of her knee, her shin stopping most of it before she uses the momentum to flick her own leg out and kick at him -

Sombra’s eyes drift from the sparring match to the tall, familiar, cowboy-hatted figure watching them from the edge of the mats, close to Gabriel’s and her’s own position.  His dark eyes follow the fight with quicksilver ease, tracing over each form fluidly, before -

He glances at them

And then Jesse’s whole face lights up into a bright grin as he calls out, “EY, SOMBRA.”

And then

 _Everyone in the gym looks at her_.

The Ninja and “Oxton,” the tall woman by the weights with her long, dark hair in a ponytail - _Amélie Lacroix_ , Sombra thinks, struggling not to gawk at her - the _massive_ man with deep, earth-rich skin who slowly and careful lowers his weights beside Amélie - _Akande Ogundimu?_ Sombra suddenly realizes, utterly _shocked_ that the international Nigerian actor is training here - the shorter man with a gilded, bronzy tone and long dreads - _what the hell is Lúcio doing here??_ Sombra stammers in her head, confused why the well-known Brazilian musician is in a stunt training group.

But as Sombra gawks and looks _incredibly awkward_ , Gabriel just scowls, muttering loudly, “Where the hell is everyone else and why aren’t they training?”

“Most of ‘em went ta lunch,” Jesse says, heading towards them, and Sombra finally spots an Omnic individual floating beside him, with a large necklace (?) of golden baubles around their neck.  As the different people in the room make their way over to their stunt team leader, Gabriel makes a deadpan face, muttering, “Oh right, forgot about that.”  As the Ninja and “Oxton” approach, Gabriel says to Sombra casually, “Olivia, this is Shimada Genji and Lena Oxton, a member of Morrison’s Watchlight team.”

“Cheers, luv!” Lena says brightly, giving Sombra a snappy little salute.  The demon-ninja lifts a hand, pulling his bone-pale mask from his face, and Sombra is lightly surprised to see warm, dark eyes assess her.  Genji inclines his head with a faint smile, greeting her, “Yo.”

But suddenly -

Lúcio bounces in front of her -

 _When did he get there??_ Sombra wonders, as the Brazilian artist grins, “ _Ei_!  You’re the one from that spy movie, right?”

“ _Camarón Que Se Duerme_ ,” Sombra replies, the movie title automatic at this point.  Lúcio practically _bounces_ with excitement, saying, “ _Cara_ , you gotta show me how to do that dive you did!  That fall was _amazing_ \- and the knife fight -”  Lúcio makes a number of quick jabs with his arms, looking more like he’s boxing something than knife-fighting, but Sombra grins, laughing, “Sure, as long as you teach me some of your dances.”

Lúcio looks briefly stunned, but he recovers quickly, beaming again, his eyes practically _sparkling_ as he gapes, “You _KNOW_ me??”

“Hard not to when your ‘We Move Together’ is the global number 1 right now,” Sombra teases him.  In her peripherals, she sees Gabriel smirk a little over her response, before the stunt team leader says, “Lúcio is in town to film ‘Hero of My Storm 2’ and wanted some training time -”

“I met Jack when he was down in Rio to film last year!” Lúcio explains with a nod, “And he told me anytime I came to LA, I could work with the group.  Akande here was just showing me some new techniques.”

Sombra follows Lúcio’s gesture up to the steadfast, unwavering, almost _piercing_ gaze of the Nigerian actor, who stares down at her.  Sombra grins up at him, trying to be friendly as she says, “ _Encantada_ , Akande -”

“As you should be,” Akande replies with a deep rumble of his voice.  Sombra feels something inside her _giggle_ a little at how focused he is - _so serious_ \- noticing how Amélie beside him rolls her eyes and shakes her head towards Gabriel.  Gabriel, however, seems to ignore her, saying, “And you know Lacroix from your video calls -”

The French ballerina-turned-actress looks less than thrilled to finally see Sombra in person.

“And over here we have Tekhartha Zenyatta, one of our emergency medics and trainers,” Gabriel continues, gesturing to the Omnic.  Sombra scowls over the name, asking, “Like Mondatta?”

“I am always surprised to see who knows my brother,” Zenyatta says with a serene playfulness, “His movies are - what was it - ‘super old school’ these days.”

Genji presses a hand to his forehead and sighs deeply.

 _I know him more for his magic_ , Sombra thinks, but decides that leaving the controversial topic of the Iris gurus for a more...appropriate time is a better choice.  The Shambali were a...difficult subject for those with the Gift, having caused a number of...strained and heated discussions on the nature of magic and how artificial individuals could _possibly_ have access to the otherly forces of the universe.

Jesse a-hems real loudly.

Gabriel pointedly ignores him, saying to Sombra, “So anyways, let me show you the rest of the facility -”

“Aw, that’s _cold_ , boss,” Jesse half-laughs, half-whines, causing Gabriel to make another deadpan expressions as he mutters, “And you already know this problem over here.  And _what_ did I tell you about smoking in the gym?” Gabriel adds darkly, snapping at Jesse.  Jesse makes an “Oh shit” face, yanking his cigar from his mouth and furiously stubbing it on the heel of a boot.

“Smoke ain’t goin’ nowhere, I keep it contained,” the stunt cowboy protests a little, but Gabriel just shakes his head, muttering, “It’s been like two goddamn decades, Jesse - take it outside -”

And

As if on cue

The door behind Sombra and Gabriel slides open, letting in some bright sunlight and lots of loud chatter.

Sombra whips around, lifting a hand to shield her eyes, but it doesn’t matter, because the sunlight is _immediately eclipsed_ by the _largest_ , _biggest_ shadow of a man she’s ever seen.  She takes a half-step back, muttering, “ _Mierda_ -”

As Gabriel chuckles, “Sombra, this is Reinhardt -”

“AH, ZE ROOKIE ES HERE!” Reinhardt booms, and Sombra _feels_ his voice in her face, followed a second later by a large hand patting her furiously on her right shoulder.  Sombra almost buckles, more from surprise than the actual weight, but manages to stand her ground, gritting her teeth as -

“Don’t overwhelm her, Rein!” a rather exhausted, but slightly teasing feminine voice says to the stunt Crusader.  As Reinhardt shifts, Sombra blinks against the sunlight, her eyes adjusting to see -

 _Qué carajos_ -

The legendary stunt performer, Ana Amari.

Sombra gapes, muttering, “Oh my god, Ana Amari - you’re a _huge_ inspiration -”

Ana smirks knowingly at her, her one visible eye twinkling mischievously, but saying slyly, “See, Gabriel - I told you that I’m still cooler than you.”

Sombra feels something in her mind _crack_ as Jesse _howls_ with laughter - even the other members snicker and chortle until Gabriel snaps, “Yeah, yeah, stop crowding the doorway, assholes, and get back to training.”  As the others wander off, Sombra and Gabriel step to the side, letting Reinhardt and Ana enter the room (Ana leans over as she passes, whispering, “Be a dear and consider switching to Watchlight, hmm?”) followed by Angela Ziegler from “Junkenstein” (she waves at Sombra with a bright, definitely _un_ -witchy smile) and the (in)famous pyrotechnic stunter and Ana’s daughter, Fareeha (who gives Sombra a big, bold grin).  As the four Watchlight stunters head down towards the hallway, Sombra and her new boss watch them go, with Gabriel sighing, “Anyways, I don’t got a lot of time, so lemme show you -”

“Gabe.”

The voice from the entrance behind them is

Immediately recognizable.

Sombra whips back around and

In the brightness of the sunlight and the ripple of the magic barriers

There’s a brief moment of interweaving worlds

Where the man’s well-known appearance is eclipsed

And Sombra quickly looks up into eyes not of blue seas

But of deep, almost burning red hellfire.

... _What_ , Sombra has a fraction of a second to think but then

The famous stunt performer and film producer Jack Morrison steps into the warehouse

And everything resumes normalcy.

Except for, ya know

The fact that _none_ of this is “normal” by like, _anyone’s_ standards.

Jack blinks once, twice, his eyes now that (in)famous deep blue that every Hollywood photographer wants a webpage-worthy-shot of at least _once_ in their careers, his slightly-faded blonde hair looking white-gold in the sunlight, before the door slides shut behind him.  Jack quirks an eyebrow in confusion before suddenly

The widest, brightest, _happiest_ smile cracks across his face

And he says in that deep, rocky tide voice:

“Oh, Olivia!  I’m excited you can join us!”

...Oh.

Jack Morrison knows her.

This moment _might_ come as close to surreally happy as her video interview with Gabriel.

Jack’s warm smile suddenly twists into a mischievous smirk as he chuckles, “I had to race Gabriel over who got to recruit you -”

“You _lost_ , Jack -” Gabriel’s voice suddenly cuts in, fierce and yet fiercely playful too.  But Jack glances at her with a quirked eyebrow, holding up his right hand, index finger and thumb showing a teeny-tiny gap that Sombra has to squint a little to see, as the stunting star mouths the words, “ _Thiiiiiiiiiis_ close,” before he says aloud with a chuckle, “It was a photo-finish, Gabe.”

“Ana’s eye doesn’t _lie_ , Jack,” Gabriel states with some finality, shifting into view on Sombra’s right, huffing as he folds his arms.  When Gabriel is rolling his eyes, Jack leans in a little, whispering to Sombra:

“...I let him win.”

Sombra chokes on her laughter, turning it into a hacking cough as Jack straightens back up, grinning wryly at her as he says loudly, “Ana’s _eye_ doesn’t lie, but Ana _herself_ is a different story -”

“Oh _please_ ,” Gabriel snorts, but there’s no venom behind the words, just a faint, smoky laugh, “Ana always takes _your_ side in this stuff.  I haven’t been able to bribe her _ever_ -”

“But it’s not for lack of trying, right?” Jack teases him, and Sombra watches as Gabriel lolls his head again but -

Her ultraviolet vision and biotech-enhancements note the quick, easy smirk that flitters across Gabriel’s face as he mutters tartly, “I mean, I gave up trying _years_ ago -”

“Don’t let him mislead you,” Jack says to Sombra, as casually as if they were all old friends catching up, and the Watchlight leader grins at her, “Gabriel tries _harder_ than anyone else here -”

“Did you just call me a ‘tryhard?’” Gabriel half-gasps, half-fake-mocks him, and Jack just smirks devilishly, “Hey now, working hard is an admirable trait, Gabe -”

“That is _not_ what you were implying at all, jackass -” Gabriel retorts.  Jack winks at Sombra, muttering loud enough for Gabriel to hear, “And he’s _observant_ too -”

“God _damn_ , I don’t get the recognition I deserve around here,” Gabriel groans sarcastically as Jack almost _giggles_ and Sombra coughs on her laughter.  Jack leans in closer to Gabriel, saying slyly, “Not at all, Mister Box-Office-Smasher - I have good news!”

“Great - trashed my self-esteem just to lift me up with some false hope, I’m sure,” Gabriel replies dryly, but Jack just retorts, “Your ‘self-esteem is the size of the sun, so believe me, some trash talk will hardly affect the gravity of _that_.  And it’s not ‘false hope’ -”

And then Jack grins _wickedly_ -

And Sombra’s ultraviolet vision sees

His blue eyes flicker a golden red

As he says with a low, smug confidence:

“We’re good to go, Gabe.”

Gabriel scowls at him with slight confusion before -

Her new boss’ whole face _lights up_ , radiating genuine brilliance and excitement like a kid on a roller coaster

As he _breathes_ , “Really?  You’re not messing with me??”

“I just got back from Petras’ office,” Jack says, and there’s a blue-blazing fire in his eyes as he grins, “We’ve got the greenlight - I’ve got all the details here -” he says, pulling his phone out of his deep red motorcycle jacket pocket.  Gabriel leans over his shoulder, glancing at the phone screen as he murmurs, “Holy shit, I cannot believe - _fuck_ , we gotta get started on the script -”

Gabriel glances at Sombra, saying with a warm, apologetic smile, “Sorry, rookie, looks like I gotta bail for the afternoon - _McCree_ ,” he snaps into the air of the gym suddenly.  After a second, McCree wanders over, asking, “Sup, boss - oh, hey Jack, your meeting go okay?”

“ _Great_ , Jesse,” Jack replies, but he doesn’t look up from his phone at all.  Gabriel, however, looks directly at Jesse, instructing him, “I want you to show Sombra around and get her locker set up.  We should be good by dinner, but until then, I want you to walk her through the facilities.  Introduce her to Torb too, wherever the asshole is.  Sombra, I’ll see you for dinner - we gotta lotta shit to go over tomorrow too, so don’t let Jesse dawdle on the tour.”

“Gotcha,” Sombra says to him, before flashing a wicked smirk at Jesse, who pouts back at her.  Gabriel rolls his eyes, muttering, “God, I _already_ regret this - alright, Juan, let’s go discuss this with a bigger screen somewhere -” he adds, patting Jack on the shoulder.  Jack flicks his head a little, as if shaking off his intense concentration, before he mutters, “Oh, uh, yeah, that’s probably smart, huh?  See you guys for dinner - Olivia, _call Gabe_ if Jesse gets you lost -”

“That only happened _one time_ ,” Jesse protests, but the two stunt team leaders are striding off, talking excitedly in low whispers as they both look over whatever Jack has on his phone, heading towards the hallway -

“...I’m confused,” Sombra says, watching them disappear from view.  Jesse glances at her, but her gaze lingers on the far doorway, her voice slightly distant as she says, “I thought everyone said they were rivals…”

“Oh, they’re _definitely_ rivals,” Jesse relies blandly, pulling his hat off to ruffle a hand through his hair, “They’re also friends at this point, I guess -”

“ _Friends_ ,” is the dry, sardonic tone out of Genji’s mouth, and both Sombra and Jesse glance at the mats, where Genji and Lena are taking a short break, Zenyatta hovering beside them.  Lena grins cheekily, repeating Genji’s tone but with even _less_ subtlety, “‘ _Friends_.’”

Genji looks disappointed - more with himself than Lena’s over-the-top joke.

“...I just meant they were business partners, Oxton,” he sighs heavily, and, as second later, Zenyatta lifts his hands, making air quotes as he repeats for a _third time_ , “‘ _Friends_.’”

“ _God_ , some days I miss Japan,” Genji grumbles, before downing the water in his bottle but -

“Jack said they were friends when I met him,” Lúcio suddenly chirps up, as if magically appearing by Lena’s side.  The musician does an easy, languid backflip _as if it’s nothing_ , landing on one hand before he plops the rest of his body into a casual sit, bouncing slightly as he adds, “Then again, Jack calls everyone his friend.”

“Did they not say they fought over Colomar’s recruitment?” Akande asks suddenly.  The actor folds his massive arms across his chest, saying solemnly, “Sounds like a genuine rivalry to me.”

“They said that they raced for it,” Sombra murmurs thoughtfully, but Jesse just huffs, “Listen, I been here longer than all y’all, so I can say with _complete certainty_ that they do this kinda dumb competitive shit _all the time_ -”

“Are we talking trash about Gabriel and Jack?”

The whole group looks to the entrance to the hallway, as Ana peeks her head in, grinning like a Cheshire Cat who just caught Alice.  The stunt-sniper steps him, sauntering over to them as Jesse sighs with relief, “Ana, _please_ tell them they’re just making mountains outta molehills -”

“Oh ho,” Ana chuckles, still smirking wryly, “But _are they_ , Jesse?”

“Oh _lord_ , not you too -” Jesse groans, but Ana just waggles a finger at him, adding, “Now, now, I’ve been here longer than _you_ , and I can tell you where it _all_ began -”

“Ooooh, I love these kinda urban legends,” Lena replies, twirling herself around as to join Lúcio on the ground.  Genji sighs, and then also takes a seat.  And -

There’s a moment of glimmering magic

As the one gifted with the Eyes of Horus -

Her Djehuti Moon eye flashing white as she sees the past -

Intones in a voice as ancient as the pyramids:

“It began twenty-four years ago…”

\---------


	2. Opening Credits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Script - First Draft]:
> 
> Fade In: Panning shots of the San Fernando Valley - cut in flickering photographs of the Gold Rush, the 1920's and 30's, oil fields, the first film cameras. Clips of Knievel, Lee, Schwarzengger, Chan. Should set a semi-documentary tone. 
> 
> Narration overlay: GABRIEL, once an FMX champion and stunter, now a major stunt coordinator and action film director in his early 50's, tells us the legends and myths of the movie's setting from back when he was a young man in his mid-twenties.
> 
> \---
> 
> [Later]:
> 
> Fade In: more panning shots of the San Fernando Valley, but "present" to the 2050's - should show the holo-billboards, hover cars, Omnic workers, cool glitz and glammor, the whole works.
> 
> Narration overlay: JACK, also once a stunt riding champion and stunt performer, now a seasoned actor and producer in his late 40's, weaves us a poppy, charismatic story about his younger self just getting started in the stunt industry in Hollywood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my other fics, I use a lot of fake news articles and chatlogs to help build the story and background. In this fic, I've decided to go with an old school Hollywood narration thing, a la "Junkenstein's Revenge."
> 
> Only instead of Reinhardt -
> 
> We get Gabe and Jack telling the story.
> 
> \---
> 
> In case you have never seen a "stunting" freestyle contest before, [this](https://youtu.be/PHdIECkvWt8?t=14) is what the "viral video" is based on, and _yes_ these are real things people do which is INSANE. For further references, I recommend searching "XDL championships."
> 
> PLEASE, IF YOU HAVE A BIKE, DO NOT DO THESE ON PUBLIC STREETS.

_Ana’s going to tell the story wrong. **Again**._

_I mean, Ana’s Eyes can see a lot of things, but they’re all from Ana’s perspective._

_Now, see - this is the part where you put on_ _“[Hotel California”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ov6w0Y06lWE)_ _to experience the full effect._

_Got it going?_

_Good._

_Time to **actually** start the story._

_For real, though, the story goes back way, **way** farther than twenty-four years ago.  The story is Time Immemorial, endless, eternal.  From the words of a great sage actor from, like, I dunno, mid-2010’s or something, “Time is a flat circle,” or whatever bullshit that dude said._

_Thing is, the Valley has always concentrated power, of all kinds - physical power, material power, political power, social power, and **other** powers.  The Tongva knew this.  They knew all these powers well, and when the Spanish came, they knew this too.  Ignored the true names but gave the places of the area some of the most powerful names of their beliefs._

_I mean_

_There’s at least one **pretty** **damn good** name in there, alright?_

_Anyways, the wealth and riches of the region - real and unreal and surreal - made the Valley thrive, even with the ravages of change and Time, though the biggest booms came with technology.  The railroad, the oil fields, the automobile, the film camera, and with each wave of technology_

_Came a new wave of magic._

_Movie magic has - and always will be - tied with the real and unreal and surreal magics, but those without the ability to sense it are willing to buy the tricks of the trade._

_And what **tricks** we have._

_Every stunt is real and unreal and surreal, since Time Immemorial - and yeah, the **real** part is the most dangerous, initially.  Nothing’s gonna save you from a bad fall, a skidding tire, a fire suit that doesn’t work, and that’s where technology continues to help, however slow.  Better medicine, better cables, better understanding of physics, better cars, better chemicals, better knowledge of everything helps - and any salted stunt performer worth their weight will tell you that._

**_Nothing_ ** _\- real or unreal or surreal - replaces safety._

_But_

_The unreal and surreal can **help**._

_Hollywood is notorious for its secrets and superstitions, and that’s because, more often than not_

_They’re true -_

_Real and unreal and surreal._

_Oh, sure, there’s lots of stunt performers and coordinators and set builders who will tell you scary stories about near-misses...or the not-near-misses.  They’ll tell you about the fragments of coincidences that saved a life in one scenario, but lost another in a different one.  They’ll weave you tall tales about “luck” and “fate” that turned the wheel of Time Immemorial in favor of one here, but against another there._

_But remember:_

_There’s no such thing as luck._

_There’s no such thing as coincidence._

_There is only the performance of Life in three acts:_

_Real_

_Unreal_

_and_

_Surreal._

_There are monsters out there far, **far** worse than the ones in the movies._

_And there is magic out there far, **far** more powerful than the kind on the screen._

\---------

 

The **Tlacatecolotl** (owl-man) was known as a possessed one who was a hater and destroyer of people, an implanter of sickness, a killer with potions, and the ability to transform into various animals. Much like the Nahualli, the Tlacatecolotl was an animal transformer. The difference may be that the Nahualli could invoke his animal counterpart to do either good or evil, while the Tlacatecolotl called upon more sinister creatures that were associated with the darker side of the cosmos. The word Tlacatecolotl would become synonymous with the Christian “demon” or “devil” during the sixteenth-century. In contemporary Nahua belief and ritual, Tlacatecolotl is still invoked and propitiated. He possesses both positive and negative qualities and may be a survival of ancient Mexico’s paramount sorcerer, Tezcatlipoca. – Coltman, “Witchcraft and Sorcery in Ancient Mexico”

 

This raises the following questions: were the supernatural practitioners in this category specialists exclusively in inflicting evil and injury on people, as generally defined by the tlatlacatecolo, or were they also specialists in the craft of white magic?  If the former is the case, where were the supernaturals who counteracted the black magic of the tlatlacatecolo?  The tlacuihque?  The titici?  These are questions that the sources cannot answer, but we are of the opinion that the tlatlacatecolo that we have classified as sorcerers were practitioners of both black and white magic, like the contemporary tetlachihuics described in this monograph.  Indeed, it makes no sense to regard a supernatural as a sorcerer if it is not within its power to practice both black and white magic.  Probably the strongest evidence that anthropomorphic supernaturals of this category were kinds of sorcerers is that the contemporary tetlachihuics in rural Tlaxcala embody many of their behaviors and possess several of their manipulative powers.  For example, the sympathetic, contagious, and homeopathic techniques and procedures employed by the tetlepanquetzqui, nomotzale, cihuanotzqui, and el que trueca sentimientos have survived and are practiced today by tetlachihuics with relatively few changes.  In fact, we would say that the tetlachihuic, as a dispenser of amatory magic, has survived almost unchanged since the cihuanotzqui of pre-Hispanic times.  Finally, the last piece of evidence that the anthropomorphic supernaturals in this category are sorcerers and the direct ancestors of the tetlachihuic is linguistic: the terms tetlachihuiani (one of the alternate, generic names of the tlatlacatecolo) and tetlachihuic denote in essence practitioners of the same supernatural activity - namely, _those who enchant people_. – Nutini, “Bloodsucking Witchcraft: An Epistemological Study of Anthropomorphic Supernaturalism in Rural Tlaxcala”

 

\---------

**Biker: Highway to Hell**

March 21, 2052: 8:31 a.m. - Strike Stunt Team facility, an industrial warehouse in Los Angeles, California

 

Gabriel is about to punch the unlock code in the door to the warehouse, shifting his duffel bag to adjust his stance when -

“Well, well, you’re awfully _late_ this morning.”

He glances over his right shoulder at Ana, who - as 100% expected - is about a minute late with a steaming to-go cup of tea in one hand, her regular bag full of training gear slung over one shoulder, her bright, deep eyes glittering mischievously, complimented by that sly smirk on her face.  Gabriel’s enhanced vision allows him to see the dark swirling tattoo beneath her Djehuti eye and the quick gleam of bold, brash gold in the Wadjet eye, as the stunter - gifted and protected by Horus himself - grins at him, saying teasingly, “What - you didn’t fly here at 7 AM like usual?”

“Get off my back, Amari - I had an errand to run,” Gabriel snorts, twisting back around to snap the code in the lock.  The lockpad beeps and a second later the door slides open.  He steps past the magical barriers easily, entering the Strike Stunt Team facility with relaxed familiarity - the single-warehouse-room is basically a second home at this point in his life.  He’s pretty sure he’s spent more hours here than in his actual apartment: the warehouse is half gym, with weights and machines at one end, and half “office,” a data-table, heavy-duty desktop computer, and a ton of filing cabinets set up on the half closest to them.  They have access to the showers and bathrooms in the rest of the warehouse, and Gabrielle has another, much smaller room rented out as her main “office” for mailing and contact purposes, plus one more “garage” room next door for Torb’s engineering stuff, but otherwise, this is all the physical, material “wealth” to the Strike Team’s name.

Sure, there are stunt teams and associations with more impressive, more _stunning_ stunting and training facilities, but

Every Strike Team member knows that their team’s true “wealth” isn’t in the size of their facility or the range of their equipment

But in their high-octane, adrenaline-rushing skills

And their high-octane, adrenaline-rushing “skills.”

The Strike Team was a…

_Different_

Sort of stunting team.

As he and Ana step inside, Gabriel glances about the warehouse - _good, we’re not **that** late_ , he thinks, seeing as the data-table the small crew usually meets around is empty and powered-off.  In the far end of the facility, he spots Reinhardt’s _massive_ form working a chest machine on the highest setting, the steady whirring of the cables and clack-clack of the weights making an even-tempo’ed rhythm in the emptiness of the warehouse.  Next to him, Ana stops, her falcon-vision glowing slightly as she watches Reinhardt, taking a _way too fucking casual_ sip from her steaming cup.

“...Nice,” Ana hums appreciatively, and Gabriel feels something twitch in his brain - a crack of his dryass sarcasm as he mutters, “Any more transparent and you’d be a magnifying glass, Ana.”

“I know what I’m about, Gabriel,” Ana retorts with a soft chuckle - she gives one last long, eyebrow-raised look at Reinhardt, who glances up at them as he lets the machine rest, his smile wide and broad even from the other side of the 30 meter-long facility.  The German martial artist and stunt performer lifts a hand, booming “ _HELLO_ ” at them, flicking his long, blonde ponytail away from his shoulder, towards his back.

Ana smiles back, laughing loudly, “Good morning, Rein!  Are you going to sit through the team meeting like that?”

Reinhardt blinks at her in surprise, before he suddenly bounces to his feet, the shock and horror apparent on his face as he shouts, “ZE MEETING - I FORGOT -”  He snatches his gym towel and water bottle, rushing off with rocketing speed to the door across from them, the one that leads to the rest of the warehouse and (hopefully) a shower in Reinhardt’s _very_ near future.

Gabriel shakes his head, not sure if he’s more disappointed that the “Crusader” member forgot the meeting entirely, or that Ana _totally got what she wanted_ , as she giggles mischievously to herself, heading to the data-table with an easy saunter to her walk.

“...Think he might need some company?” Ana beams back smugly to Gabriel, dropping her bag by her usual seat, and yeah, nah -

He’s _definitely_ more disappointed in Ana.

“God _damn_ , Amari - that chai latte not enough to quench your thirst?” he mutters, dropping his own bag by his seat.  As he slots himself in the chair, Ana rolls her eyes, correcting him, “It’s koshary, Gabriel - I swear, you Americans and your unrefined tastes -”

Gabriel gives her a wide, disbelieving shrug as he replies dryly, “Says the woman who was _literally_ just thirsting after the archetypal paladin.”

“Reinhardt is like a refined tisane,” Ana starts to defend herself, but Gabriel can _feel_ the even-more-disappointed, deadpan expression slide onto his face.  The stunt shooter and action actress counts off her fingers tauntingly, “He has charm, wit, a great sense of humor, perfect kinesthetics -”

“He charged into a wall _yesterday_ -” Gabriel retorts, but Ana patently ignores him, saying blithely, “And he’s _hot_ \- steep those just right and you have yourself a _perfect_ healing tea.”

“...A very _specific_ kind of healing, huh?” Gabriel replies with a smoky deadness.  Ana grins at him, taking her seat as she says, “Look at you, catching on quick -”

“So when the hell are you gonna step up and finally ask him out?” Gabriel burns right back.  Ana grows solemn at that, mumbling vaguely, “The uh...stars are not… When the moon is in the right phase -”

“Yeah, yeah, spare me,” Gabriel mutters, tapping a few buttons to turn the data-table on.  As it jingle-jangles into powering-up mode, he glances at her, saying, “If I give you a $20, will you just take him out for coffee or koshary or whatever the hell you want to drink, just so you’ll stop doing this every day?”

“...No guarantees on asking him out,” Ana fires back, before grinning, “But I will _gladly_ take a twenty or two off your hands -”

“Oh, good, good!  I am glad you two are here!”

Both stunt performers look up from their bickering towards the hallway door, where their stunt team leader Gabrielle stands, her regally dark skin gilded at the edges with the light of the hall behind her.  She smiles at them brightly, thick curls bouncing as she steps towards them, saying cheerfully, “Good morning - are you ready to be _wowed_?”

Gabriel rolls his eyes a little, muttering lowly, “You said that about the last three ‘potential recruit’ videos, ma’am.”

“I meant it every time, Gabriel, but I _especially_ mean it now,” Gabrielle says with a teasing lilt, her Nigerian accent like a pleasant musical hum on each word.  She slides into the seat at the head of the data-table, setting her datapad down.  Even so, Gabriel shares a knowing glance with Ana across from him, and she too raises an eyebrow skeptically.

Everyone knew that power - real and unreal and surreal - flowed into the Valley like the streams among the canyons of the Tehachapi and San Gabriel: goods and materials carried in on freight trucks through the Grapevine; technology and cyber wizardry built into every studio’s and production team’s computer systems; money - real and imagined and promised - crossing boundaries with shakes of hands and signatures on documents; and

_Magic_

Crafted on sets and in choreographies, filmed in daring leaps and devilish fights, born in sparks of pyrotechnics and ripples of tarnished, burnished artificial starlight, sold on silver screens and gilded-blue holo-projections the world over.

The Valley was the crucible in which they were all ground - mortar and pestle, metate and mano - and then boiled down and melted into molded, post-processed power, churned out in sharp-cut reels of ideals and ideations.

And the Strike Stunt Team was their own, _utterly unique_ brand of magic and power integrated into that.

They were the vision of the woman on Gabriel’s left, sitting at the head of their small table, tapping through her datapad with bright, optimistic ease - when Gabrielle Adawe had an idea, she worked _magic_ and _power_ alike until it came true.

Gabrielle Adawe was in a class of her own - nearing her late thirties, the stunt performer-turned-stunt coordinator was highly, _highly_ regarded by those in the industry, both on and off the screen, capable of conceiving, creating, coordinating, directing, and performing stunts.  Industry heads called her skills and talent “magical” and “spellbinding.”

And, to be sure

They weren’t... _exactly_ wrong about that.

Gabrielle’s skills were indisputably the top of the game, a rank unto their own, but the actress had a few “enhancements” up her sleeve - the gift of Sight, the ability to weave protective enchantments, the critical knowledge to craft potions and amulets to beseech spirits and receive imbuements of their blessings.

About two years ago, when the believed-to-be-defunct Omniums had opened their doors and poured out their robots, humanity had spiraled into a panic...only to learn that the “Omnics” (as they called themselves) wanted nothing more than to be integrated into the global society.  At a major “peace talk” held by the United Nations, one of the massive “God Programs” had simply stated, to the entire world:

“We totally thought about killing all of you off, but we calculated that it wasn’t worth the effort.”

The process of integration had not been...without a few hitches, as politicians and economists and military agencies and philosophers and social scientists had struggled with the looming implication of mass waves of humans being unemployed, skyrocketing homelessness, political and social upheaval, and untold numbers of existential crises.  Fortunately, the world had started shifting to nuclear and fusion power, which “conveniently” opened up a whole industry of opportunities for humans and Omnics alike.

So sure, there were a few stumbling blocks, but otherwise, the integration was far more seamless and smooth than the implied alternative of a global, robotic apocalyptic war-

So that was a plus.

At the same time, with the influx of human and Omnic “optimists” and “dreamers” alike into the power crucible of the Valley, Gabrielle had found it imperative to form a crew of, uh, _unique_ individuals who she could trust with _actually_ repping both their skills and their magic to second-unit directors and stunt coordinators and magical customers in need of real and unreal and surreal talent.

As she had told each one of them when she’d recruited them, their names, skills, stunt reels, and abilities had stood out above the others, with, uh, Reinhardt and Gabriel’s cases being almost literal.  

Reinhardt Wilhelm had battled through the now-beloved, six-season “Crusader” series to global success - he’d only been a minor character in Baldrich von Alder’s “legendary, lionhearted knights,” but Rein had garnered a cult following for his bold, bright-spirited performances and charming lines...and he’d gained a “guild” following among the magically-inclined for being one of the last genuine paladins in the world.  Rumors circulated among “those in the know” that it had been Reinhardt’s light-woven barriers which had protected the “Crusader” crew from a malevolent spell (whisper-rumored to be from a rival production of “Swords and Shields”) while on the set of Eichenwalde during the final season.  Supposedly, when Gabrielle had interviewed Reinhardt about his the spell, Rein had just smiled at her, saying boldly, “Oh yes, zhat was my shield.  We fought ze dark enchantment for THREE days -”

(And then he’d proceeded to tell her the whole story for like, two hours.)

Ana Amari, meanwhile, had a number of Arabic-language productions under her belt, a veteran stunt actress and “sharpshooter” from Egypt, working on everything from historical dramas to high-speed car chase scenes to cutting edge spy thrillers...and protecting them with her blessings of Horus all the while.  Legends stated (and legends were 100% correct) that she was a guardian of the true secrets of the pyramids and necropolis of Giza, a diviner and an herbalist and a lethal sniper all in one.  It was almost _surreal_ discussing her life with her - one day, she could be jumping off waterfalls or performing 30-minute-long fight sequences with only a knife and a jar of honey, and the next day she could be crafting alchemical potions and healing teas for both physical and magical ailments, and the day after she could be negotiating with bounty hunters and assassins to trot out to some far corner of the world and engage in a manhunt of its own epic, silverscreen proportions.   _And_ _then the day after that_ , she could be at home, taking care of her young daughter (“the hardest duty of them all,” Ana would joke).

Torbjörn Lindholm was _the_ master craftsman - he was actually more of a stunt performer on the side, finding niche roles doubling for characters of his stature, but his true calling was in stunt sequencing and set-creating.  He had no shame in sharing the fact that he was descended from both Vikings and the smithing dwarves of Norse lore, claiming that his lineage went all the way back to Brokkr himself.  He was perhaps the greatest metallurgist in the industry, with a specialty in forging weapons, guns, and vehicles - his biggest claim-to-fame was structuring the most recent version of the Batmobile, which could _legit_ _transform_ into a jet, a submarine, and a motorcycle (Gabriel had been fortunate to be the test-driver for Torb’s prototypes, and they split time on the prototype bike between them).  Currently, Gabrielle was doing her best to get Torbjörn as the set and prop builder for the upcoming Iron Man and Mad Max reboots - “talks are going well,” was the last statement they’d heard.

And then.

There was Gabriel Reyes.

A BMX, FMX, and stunt freestyle champion, as well as a skilled martial artist, capable of handling military-grade weaponry, Gabriel had caught Adawe’s visionary eye a few years ago with his then-current back-to-back wins in the Stunt Grand Prix and the XDL Championships.  He’d been surprised to get an email from her, asking for a meeting to discuss if he would be interested in stunting for films: “a stunt rider and FMX biker of your caliber would easily find work in the action genre,” her email had said, “Though I must offer you no illusions of stardom - stunt performers are very rarely known by name and almost never get speaking parts, but with support from myself and the other members of the team, you’ll find steady work in no time.”

He’d been intrigued, showing up at the warehouse for their meeting, impressed with the quality of the facility, recognizing that the size of it was less important than the highly focused, high-performing brands for the weight machines and training gear.  And he’d been even more impressed with _her_ \- with her bright, witty spirit and her ambitious determination and her gilded sense of patience with _him_.

The questions initially had been on stunting - how did he get started (jumping dirtbikes on ramps in his neighborhood, graduating to real BMX-ing in high school), what could he do (BMX biking, FMX motocross, motorcycle “stunting,” racing, even some mountain biking), where had he been (all over, usually for contests and prix’s), what would he want to learn more of (classic auto racing, old-school, Knievel-style stunting, acrobatics) - and then movies - which were his favorites (the old school, 2010’s Marvels and the “classic” action films of the 1970’s and 1980’s), had he ever worked on a set before (only a few minor set assistant roles in the summer when he’d turned 18 and needed some easy jobs), would he learn how to fence and learn formalized gymnastics (yes, definitely), did he have any secondary skill sets (he knew bikes and motorcycles inside and out, had worked in an uncle’s custom shop on-and-off, had no problems working with Torb to build prototypes), the usual.

And then the real

Had turned to the unreal and the surreal.

“I hear you are the son of Eddie Reyes,” Gabrielle had said to him, still with that calm, cool smile, but Gabriel had scowled, eyes narrowing as he’d replied, “You’ve heard of my dad, huh?”

“The Reyes’s of Mexico City and Tlaxcala are widely known among those of my... _secondary_ profession,” Gabrielle had said with even but pointed measure in her voice.  Gabriel had frowned, but eventually sighed, “My parents moved to LA well before my brother Rafael was born.  I’ve lived here my whole life.  Pápa does practice his _brujería_ and _curanderismo_ here, but mainly for friends and associates who need an enchantment or quick fix-up.”

“Do you practice as well?” Gabrielle had asked him bluntly.  Gabriel had exhaled slowly, folding his arms across his chest, chewing over his answer before saying, “I’m skilled in both, if that’s what you’re asking, but like my dad, I don’t use it for business - just for personal means.”

“You use them for stunting, yes?” Gabrielle had started to ask but -

“No.”

She had blinked at him in surprise, as Gabriel had added, “I do imbue myself with some extra protections in case of a bad fall, but I almost never use them for stunts, either in BMX or FMX or motorcycle stunting.  I might potion myself up after, just to ease up on soreness and bumps, but otherwise, I really just use them for myself and some friends.”

Gabrielle had now scowled, murmuring in a much, _much_ lower voice:

“...And the whispers of the _tlatlacatecolo_ …”

Gabriel’s eyes had

Briefly

_Briefly_

Sparked _molten gold_.

“...Careful where and how you say that word,” Gabriel had finally spoken after a long moment, “The _tlacatecolotl_ sorcerer is not...well-liked outside of parts of Central Mexico.”

“...May I ask if you possess such powers, friend?” Gabrielle had asked, the invocation warm and fond on her lips.   _She does this a lot, huh?_ Gabriel had sensed, but with the sign of her good faith, he’d sighed, admitting, “...I use them less than anything else.  They are…”

But the words had died off in his throat.

After a long, spell-studded moment, Gabriel had murmured:

“...I once worked a late shift at the autoshop.  I went to get my bike behind the garage and there was...a man holding a woman down and she was crying but he…”

Gabrielle’s gaze had softened as she’d replied gently, “...Oh friend, I am...sorry.”  Gabriel had shaken his head, his eyes flashing liquid light again as he’d stated:

“Don’t be.  I wasn’t when I was done with him.  And she walked away unharmed.”

Gabriel had looked up at her, saying with a distant, unreal and surreal calmness, “I have no issues with contracting out as a _brujo_ or _curandero_ for people you know, but the _tlacatecolotl_ I won’t sell.  My predecessors are fine with being hired, but mine is not advertised.  Period.  Does that work?”

Gabrielle had agreed.

The last few years had been one _hell_ of a grind, working through stuff like common grunt work and set building, nabbing stunt scenes and vicious bike races through grit and determination, pushing himself to do pretty much anything and everything asked of him - he’s finally, _finally_ nailing lead-double roles and lead stunt fights, working under Gabrielle and Torbjörn to learn the fuller process of second-unit set construction and stunt coordinating processes.  His name, hefty with the wealth of regality and stunting titles, still feels like a small star compared to the bigger names in their tiny, competitive industry, but his secondary skills - real (the auto-work) and unreal (the _curandismo_ ) and the surreal (the _brujería_ ) - managed to pull in enough work in the downtimes to keep him _incredibly_ busy, and in moments when even those flag, he’ll pull up old BMX, FMX, and stunting contacts and jet off to _wherever_ to perform some tricks and routines.

The Strike Stunt Team had been quite successful at helping each other, training together, teaching each other, round out their different skills and “skills” together, pushing and encouraging and propelling each other to try _harder_ , work _more_ , be _better_ -

But then.

Hollywood had responded.

More specifically -

Disney’s Marvel film development department had “responded.”

After thirty, forty years, the company had announced a grand unveiling of a brand new, ten-year plan to reboot the _entire_ “classic” superhero cinematic franchise from the ground up.  The company had cautioned die-hard fans that this would _not_ be a shot-for-shot remake of the well-loved global phenomenon films, but that, with the advances in technology and computer effects, the potential for recrafting the legendary film universe with better aesthetics, better visuals, better scripting, and _better stunts_ was _better_ than ever - add in Omnics and brand-new fusion energy systems, and the company was bound to _destroy_ box offices the world over.

Gabriel’s own parents - people who absolutely fell into the “die-hard fans” category - had called him _immediately_ after the announcement went public, babbling and chattering and _urging_ him (without Gabriel saying a single word) to try out for as many stunts and doubling roles as he could.

“Máma - _Máma_!” Gabriel had snapped, trying to get a word in edgewise, as Isabella Reyes had slowed her roll to listen.  Gabriel had sighed, “Look, Gabrielle is just as excited as you are, but as I keep telling _everyone_ , it depends on who they hire as lead actors - gonna be hard to stunt for Cap or Thor if I look _nothing_ like them.”

“...Shall I _help_ you, _mijo_?” Isabella had asked back, and Gabriel could _hear_ the magic in her voice, dripping off of each word like liquid, nightfallen obsidian, but he’d just made a deadpan face to himself, replying bluntly, “No.”

“...Aw, but, Gabrielito -”

“No, Máma,” Gabriel had sighed, “Even if I was going to do... _that_ , I still wouldn’t need your help.  I’m _your_ son, after all - I know what I’m capable of, but I’m not going to do it.  We’ll just let things play out and go from there.  They’ll need generic background people anyways and Iron Man is always in a mask in most of his stunt scenes.”

It was more important to get a sense of the new aesthetics and style first and foremost…

And then try to push himself into coordinator positions more.

But that hadn’t accounted for the first hurdle of the Strike Team’s ambitions -

Gabrielle herself.

So, here they are -

Sitting around the data-table

Preparing to watch yet _another_ “potential recruit” video that had caught Gabrielle’s interest.

Gabriel and Ana share a knowing, skeptical look: Gabrielle is _determined_ to get each member of the team into a double or major stunt scene role, already trying to sell Reinhardt off as the double for whoever they cast as Thor (although Reinhardt could probably _be_ Thor himself) and sending out demos of Torbjörn’s work to various production crews.

But her current, self-imposed “mission”

Is to “land” all the lead actor double roles.

...Or as many as her tiny team can, anyways.

To this end, she’s shown them - god - at least... _six_?  Seven??  Different videos of either other stunt performers or martial arts competitors, asking them all for their opinions on recruiting them to join the team and help train them up to get in as Captain America or Spiderman or Black Panther or any of the Guardians - the whole works.

As Gabrielle is excitedly setting up the video in the data-table’s display, the main door to the facility slides open, and the short, stocky, familiar figure shuffles in, dragging a massive bag of clunking tools and metal parts behind him.  Torbjörn squints at them before the door cuts off the bright sunlight behind him, muttering lowly, “Whew, glad I made it in time.”

“You ride here?” Gabriel asks the set builder as he drops his bag and slides into the seat on Gabriel’s right.  Torb sighs, mumbling, “Yeah, got caught in a major jam on I-10 - I dunno how ya can stand this city.”

“You just gotta learn the tricks,” Gabriel chuckles when -

“I AM HERE!”

The three stunt performers all glance up at the hallway door behind where Gabrielle is sitting (their leader herself doesn’t look up from her datapad, continuing to hum and tap through pages) as the massive shadow _skids_ to a slippery, uneasy stop - Reinhardt stumbles into the room, his long blonde hair still dripping wet, beard tuffed up from being hastily towel-dried, wearing a tight, crisp white t-shirt and clean sweatpants, a look that gets a sly smirk out of Ana and a frown from Gabriel.

“Glad you could join us, Reinhardt,” Gabrielle says jovially as Reinhardt sheepishly tiptoes in, pulling out the final chair next to Ana.  The stunt “sniper” leans over, saying coyly to Reinhardt, “Didn’t have time to blow-dry, huh?”

Torb slumps his head in his hands as Gabriel gives her the most dad-disappointed glare he can manage.

“Oh, ahahaaa,” Reinhardt chuckles weakly, a very obvious and very honest blush rising to his cheeks as he adds in a worried tone, “I was rushing very fast, Ana!  I know it looks, uh, probably very bad -”

Torbjörn pulls out his datapad and taps something in a document app, before flashing it at Gabriel:

[What happened to us paying them to go on a date?]

Gabriel shrugs, whispering, “I offered!  She didn’t take me up on that -” as Ana laughs back to Reinhardt, “Oh, _no_ , not at all - it’s a good look on you, Rein -”

Torb and Gabriel share a look of _utter pain_ with each other as Gabrielle says with cheery blitheness, “That’s enough, Ana.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ana replies hastily, as both sniper and knight straighten back up.  Gabrielle finally taps one last button, and the video on her datapad slips onto the surface of the data-table.  It’s cut into four angles for each side to view it “correctly,” and on the paused screen -

There’s a figure in a bold, multi-colored leather jacket and strange, blue helmet sitting “ready” on a motorcycle.

Several things immediately stand out to Gabriel.

One - the title of the video is “Winner of The Better Indy 500 Grand Prix 2052 - Freestyle Showcase.”

So already he knows this is a bad start.

 _Some country jackass with a suped up Harley sports bike that he welded a 12 bar to in his dad’s garage and called it a stunt bike_ , Gabriel thinks dryly, _He can pop some wheelies that his friends think are sick and therefore he thinks he’s got big enough burnouts to take him to some sorta regional championship before he gets his ass kicked in a national or international competition._

Number two, however, is a contrast to that - the semi-decent punctuation on the video title gives him pause.  That makes it modestly more professional than 99% of the stunt ridin’ adrenaline junkies who upload clips of their standing wheelie donuts in mostly empty parking lots at sunset and title them in all capitals because they mashed the Caps Lock key once and never looked back.

And number three -

Is the 2.5 _million_ views.

…

In one week since the video was uploaded.

Gabrielle taps the “holo-projection” feature button in the settings of the video player - the computer thinks for a second, before the 2D displays on the surface _move_ , transforming themselves into a 3D projection arising from the data-table in front of them.  All the members of the stunt team readjust themselves, turning their attention to the surface of the table, which automatically converts the video’s “internal 3D space” (captured from static camera drones that - when they originally shot the footage - pinged distances and measurements to each other) into a “comparable format” on the table, much like old school screen ratios and framerates.  The rider and his bike appear as a small, maybe 15 centimeter-high, digital holographic figure projected at one end of the table, and Gabriel is impressed that a regional-level stunt contest could afford holo-projection-compatible mo-capping, something that Hollywood currently loves to use behind the scenes on stunts and combat sequences, but is still struggling to translate to direct camerawork.

Within fractions of a second of the holo-projection appearing, Gabriel already notes a few distinctive things about their “Better Indy 500” winner:

The first is the bike - it _looks_ like a heavily-modified Kuro “Fire” 636, a pretty typical choice for stunting for the last few years, but there’s something a little... _different_ about it.  Even with the bike’s dark, shimmering red full fairing - a color caught between a deep, rich wine and a bolder, bright red - Gabriel can see that the crash cage and stay structure are rather unique, perhaps even hand-built for the rider’s personal preferences.  The wide rear sprocket also says a lot - _he must prefer bigger bursts and bolder stunts than hyper speed_ , Gabriel considers.  

The whole bike looks fully customized, right down to the seat and handlebar, in a way that Gabriel can’t quite place his finger on.  Custom, personalized mods, sure, easy to recognize to his trained eye but something else feels _off_ in a way that the holo-projection probably can’t show.  
...Probably magic.

Gabriel glances to his right, noticing Torb’s assessing squint, how the stunt engineer taps a number of specific details down in his datapad, and the smith’s technomagic program responds seamlessly to his input, developing a model of the bike seemingly in full detail based merely on Torbjörn’s visual observations.

“...It’s not a Kuro Fire?” Gabriel asks him quietly.  Torbjörn shakes his head, also replying softly, “Without seeing the engine and the rest o’ the inner workings, it’s hard ta say...but it doesn’t look quite right, even for a custom bike.”

“So he built it all himself?” Gabriel wonders aloud, looking over the rider -

Because the second thing Gabriel notices

Is the gear.

He’s decked out in good, solid gear - a full leather jacket with sleeves all the way down to his wrists, with padded armor along his shoulders and arms, and the faint outline of a back and chestplate beneath it.  Sturdy-looking padded gloves, durable pants, and riding boots that fit snugly through his ankles and up his calves to just below his knees.  His helmet is...kinda an odd choice - a bold, brash blue all over, except for this face guard, which has a bright red band across his eye level, and a dark, mesh plating covering the rest of his face.

 _The bike is slicker than he is_ , Gabriel also notes wryly, immediately judging the dude for the boringly typically red-white-and-blue moto jacket, although the emblazoned 76 on the back is an...odd choice.

“76?” Ana asks, and from the tone of her voice, Gabriel can tell she is _also_ judging the rider.  He glances at Torbjörn, the other major professional stunt rider in the group, who is giving the holographic “winner” an unimpressed scowl.

So, really, the whole team is judging the poor jacket choice.

“Es he contestant number 76?” Reinhardt asks optimistically, as if trying to boost all their opinions, but Gabrielle just chuckles, “No, apparently he won’t say why he wears the jacket.”

 _Bad sign, bad sign_ , Gabriel thinks, but wisecracks aloud, “Was he sponsored by the gas company?”

“He _wishes_ he was,” Torbjörn mutters lowly, just loud enough for Gabriel to hear, but Gabrielle says, “Ha!  Luckily for us, he is not.”

 _“Luckily for us…?”_ Gabriel considers with a bitter taste on the edge of his throat, _Another bad sign._  He shoots a skeptical glance at Ana across from him, and she mirrors the expression right back.

They all know how Gabrielle gets when she “sets her sights” on someone.

“So,” Gabrielle says calmly, but there’s a gleam in her night-starred dark eyes that shows just how excited she is to share this “winner” with them, “The contest description for the freestyle part said that the contestants got five minutes to showcase their best stunts.  There were no other major requirements - no set amounts on wheelies or acrobatics.”

“So Street Bike Freestyle rules?” Gabriel asks, admittedly finding his curiosity piqued.  Gabrielle’s eyes seem to twinkle mischievously before she says, “Exactly.  I was wondering if you would be interested, Mister Former Champion.”

“Well, which title are we referring to here?” Gabriel jokes back, leaning back in his chair as he counts off smugly, “The Stunt Grand Prix?  The XDL two years ago?  My different FMX titles?”

“God, could you be any more smug about it?” Torbjörn grumbles at him, and Gabriel twists his chair, beaming down at the engineer-warlock next to him, laughing, “Is that a challenge, Lindholm?”

“Enough, everyone,” Gabrielle says, a wave of her hand dismissing the conversation, “As always, I expect _fair_ , _reasonable_ opinions and assessments.  It is fine to turn down a potential recruit, but I expect you to explain your reasons for both a negative and a positive vote.”

Gabriel sighs, settling back in his chair, folding his arms as he looks down at the tiny version of “Stunt Rider: 76” on the table, waiting at the far end like he’s _ready_ to rev and go at any second.

Gabrielle taps the play button.

Gabriel expects the “usual” - loud wub wubs and screeching electronic chords and thrummin’ remixes of either a pumped-bass rap song or some sugar-coated pop bop, something that any schmuck heard on the radio and reprocessed to be “edgier, harder, stronger,” ya know -

“The Usual.”

But instead, as the video starts -

There’s a slow chorus of “oooooh’s” and a soft strum of a guitar, followed by a languid, easy call of:

[“Coooooome and get yoooour love -”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kuymTS9PoBQ)

Gabriel _feels_ his eyebrows go up in shock before his brain even fully processes the song -

The full, unedited, studio version of “Come and Get Your Love” by Redbone, 1974 -

As the stunt biker does _not_ , shockingly, zip off and jump into a wheelie or a stoppie like most would -

But instead he wheels his bike at a leisurely pace, expertly “walking” the bike through a series of slow, meandering weaves - front wheel turning one way, then sharply turning the other way, making the slow roll of the bike look like an easy, steady “glide.”  He coolly lifts his legs off the side, slinging them over the handlebar into a chill “high chair,” but still weaving and rolling semi-slow across the open area.

And then -

The song _starts_

And the rider _goes_.

As the bass swings in, the rider does a quick series of acrobatic leg swings, flipping them out from under his arms, briefly releasing the handlebars one hand at a time in rapid succession, before he manages to get himself backwards - “switchback riding,” it’s called - and -

With his left hand now on the right throttle

He _accelerates_ -

Riding forward towards the end of the freestyle area when -

The twang of the electric sitar fills the air -

“Stunt Rider: 76” rocks “backwards,” tipping the whole bike forward into a front-wheelie (a “stoppie” or “endo”) - Rein unleashes the largest gasp, and even Gabriel leans forward a little, eyes wide as it looks like the bike’s about to flip over, back wheel over the front, but then

The rider slightly launches himself off the flattened gas tank, pushing his feet forward to snap onto the back end of the bike’s seat, jerking the bike back into a swaying bouncy, bunny hop, timing it with the swing of the sitar, like a visual gag for the “boinging sound.”  As the bike bounces back towards the front wheel, he manages to slide himself around, this time slipping himself back into a seated position, doing several more quick, perfectly-timed bunny hops, as if the bike is doing a jumpy one-two step to the funkier start of the song.

As the first “Heeeey ( _heeeeey_ )” kicks in, the rider slings his left leg over the right side of the bike, even as he turns the front wheel left, giving his whole “Can Can” stunt a sweeping, exaggerated curve to it, which helps stylistically “emphasize” the kicking motion of his legs.

Swinging the bike back around, heading back towards where he started, he slips himself off, clinging to the right side of the bike but facing backwards, popping another wheelie to look almost like he’s surfing alongside the upright motorcycle, alternating his feet on the crash cage supports and different foot pegs of the bike to make it look like -

“ _Holy shit_ ,” Gabriel exhales with a slight giggle, as the rider fake-moonwalks to the crooning vocals of the first verse:

“What’s the matter with yo head, yeeeeeah -”

As the bike is still wheelie-ing, the rider twists himself up and over easily, slinging his left leg around as he slots himself back in the seat, dropping the bike for another quick series of bunny hop bounces -

“Heeeey ( _heeeeey_ ) - what’s the matter with yo mind and yo sign and your oooohhh-oh-oh -”

The rider pulls himself right up against the handlebar, his lower torso and thick legs hugging the flattened tank with a smooth motion that catches Gabriel’s eye, before the _little smartass_ leans all the way back, arching his back over, his hands gripping the seat and -

“Heeeey ( _heeeeey_ ) - nothing’s the matter with yo head, baby -”

The _jackass_ literally _pulls_ himself into a backwards-facing _headstand_ on the seat of the bike.

“Find it, c’mon and find it -”

“WHAT,” Ana yells as Reinhardt practically jumps out of his seat.  Torbjörn leans forwards more and Gabriel’s eyes narrow into a calculating scowl -

_He used both his upper body strength **and** his legs there - arms and chest to pull, legs to push off the front part of the crash cage - _

“Heeeell with it, baby -”

But the rider _doesn’t stop there_.

He briefly holds the headstand, before he sways his hips and then kicks his legs “forward,” towards the back of the bike, slotting his left foot onto the “12 o’clock bar” hanging off the back of his seat -

“‘Cause you’re _fine_ and you’re _mine_ -”

And then, using the controlled momentum of his body, the rider basically _pulls_ the bike into another wheelie as he falls “forward,” gliding the machine into an upright, almost-perfectly vertical (“the 12 o’clock position”) form -

“And you look so _divine_ -”

The rider releases the seat every so briefly, straightening himself up, making his own body almost perfectly-parallel with the wheelie-ing bike, before he latches his left hand back onto the handlebar -

And then he basically _hangs off_ the back of the upright bike, right hand and right leg free in the air -

“ _Come and get your love_ -”

As the song slides into the chorus, the bike slides into a slow right twist, curving into a circle - and as the bike rotates around the table in an easy drift, Gabriel can see that

The rider is basically _dancing_ as he hangs off.

“What a cheeky _bastard_ ,” Torbjörn snorts, but there’s a rumble of a laugh in his voice, and even Gabriel finds it hard not to crack a sly smile as the dude basically swings his hips and sways his shoulders, bouncing and bopping to the poppy beat of the chorus - he even jumps, switching his hand and leg lightning-fast to do a choppy can-can kick with his left leg -

“ _Come and get your love -_ ”

As the chorus winds “down” and the twang of the sitar strums back up, the rider places his free left hand back on the handlebar and then - with some snappy, quick steps that mimic the slick jangle of the sitar’s notes - “climbs” back up into the seat of the bike, dropping the wheelie back down into another short, choppy stoppie that “bounces” forward on the next “Heeeey ( _heeeeey_ )” of the second verse.

“What’s the matter if ya feel right -”

But instead of doing more of the “dancy” little bunny hops, the rider clamps down tight on the clutch and the front brake, letting the rear tire fall into a shifting left swing, pulling hard on the throttle.  The rear wheel spins and spins and spins with the gas he’s giving it, but with the front tire not moving, all he does is _burn_ , churning up thick black smoke off the asphalt and -

Gabriel now scowls.

There’s a flash of something _otherly_ in the smoke, a glimmer of something _else_.

“- Don’cha feel right, baby -”

As the burnout finishes its fishtailing arc, the rider releases the clutch and the front brake, whipping forward a few short meters -

“Heeeey ( _heeeeey_ ) -”

Before he pulls off another quick stoppie, bouncing forward, and then “throwing” the bike back to bounce on the rear wheel, and then land again -

“Get it from the main vine, all right -”

Before he “waltzes” the bike into another slow, meandering swagger, swaying his torso as he lifts his hands, making “here here” gestures to the crowd - with the music, it’s hard to hear, but the crowd definitely applauds with several loud wolf-whistles and rowdy calls.

“He knows how to work a crowd,” Ana says, her voice still carrying her trademark “Amari tone of sarcasm,” but there’s a touch of impressed approval there too, as she sits back, watching the rider slide his legs across the handlebar again into another “high chair,” as Lolly Vegas sings:

“I said-a, find it, find it, go on and love it if ya like it, _yeah_ -”

Once again, he lifts his hands off the handlebar, basically guiding the bike with his legs, sitting on the grip-taped surface of the flattened tank, raising his hands as he rouses the crowd.  And then, quick as a flash, the rider pushes himself up off the tank, dropping his right hand down on the handlebar to steady himself, swinging his legs to the left dramatically before he throws them back over the seat of the bike.

“Heeeey ( _heeeeey_ ) - it’s your business if ya want, take some, get it tagether, baby -”

He straightens the bike back out, letting it move forward as he hops up, standing on the pegs of his crash cage, the bike driving completely free.  As the song slides into the next chorus, he jumps, twisting himself around, facing backwards as he lands the short hop on the top of the tank.  As he straightens up -

“ _Come and get your love_ -”

He sways a little - enough to make the bike warble a little on its self-moving path, but fast and choppy enough to correct it before he -

“ _Come and get your love_ -”

Places his right foot on the left handle -

 _Guiding the bike into an easy left-turning circle with his foot_.

Beneath the chorus, the crowd cheers.  Reinhardt shakes his head in disbelief as Ana looks _stunned_ , both her Sun and Moon eyes wide and unblinking.  The rider even claps once, twice with the beat, managing to swing his hips once to the twang of the sitar and the third round of “Come and get your love -” before he twists and plops himself back into the seat with ease.

“ _Come and get your love_ -”

As the chorus slips into the speedier, snappier bridge, sliding into the quick strums of the sitar, the rider pulls back into another wheelie, hanging onto the handlebar but once again sliding himself off towards the back of the bike that’s closer to the ground -

“ _Come and get your love, come and get your love, come and get your love now_ -”

The vocals speed into a near-slurring of the words, beating out their own rapid rhythm, as the rider does a quick series of “steps” where he almost “climbs” back up the rear fairing and the seat of the bike before he kicks his right leg out to the side, “dropping” back down the 12 bar, and then does the “climb” again before kicking his left leg out and “dropping” again -

“ _Come and get your love, come and get your love, come and get your love now_ -”

The bike bounces a little with his steps, caught between “falling” forward with his upwards momentum but always being “dragged” back into the 12 o’clock wheelie when he “descends” again.  Impressively, his handlebar control remains fairly steady, counter-leaning to keep the bike upright when his minute movements and kicks sway too far to one side.

“ _Come and get your love, come and get your love, come and get your love now_ -”

It’s a pretty _damn_ impressive display of athleticism and skill - true, the fact that the bike runs on its own helps ease up some of the “strength” of the stunts, but the bike itself probably weighs between 300 and 400 pounds (130 to 180 kilos) and is still a massive chunk of metal with an engine powered by exploding fuel, which is part of what makes the sheer audacity of stunting so _incredible_.

 _Magic is probably helping him,_ Gabriel thinks, but he also considers, _But not much.  The stunts seem pretty practical to me, and there’s been nothing **too** impossible._

“ _Come and get your love, come and get your love, come and get your love now_ -”

As the song drifts back to the chorus of regular “Come and get your love’s,” the rider lands a final, quick-switch “hop” on the right side of his bike, leaving both his feet on that side, left foot down on the main foot peg, the right foot curled up, resting against the lip of the seat to help balance him.  His hands shift the handlebar with precision, turning the bike into a tight, left-turning drift circle.

“ _Come and get your love_ -”

With the strums of the sitar, the rider makes the bike warble slightly, bouncing his shoulders to the music, clearly enjoying himself before he leans back, pulling the bike into another high wheelie, not quite 12 o’clock but close to it, slipping into a slightly wider turn - he rides it leaning into the left curve of the circle, almost like a cone, though his own stature is almost straight upright.

“ _Come and get your love_ -”

As the sitar sings another little chorded jangle, the rider lets the front wheel drop at the same time that he shifts, adjusting his feet, swinging his left leg back over the seat to catch himself in the fall.  He guns the throttle, speeding forward, before popping another quick stoppie and bouncing back into a sharp wheelie -

“Heeeey ( _heeeeey_ ) - what’s the matter if ya feel right -”

Dropping his legs back to the 12 bar with a smart _snap_ of his hips to the right, just as Vegas’ vocals _snap_ , “ _Doncha_ feel right, baby -”

He returns to semi-dancing on the back of the upright bike, both hands on the handlebar, almost sashaying with it as he “dances” it around the lot -

“Heeeey ( _heeeeey_ ) - oh yeah -”

He lifts his right foot, pressing it against the seat, using that and his upper body strength to push the front wheel back down and then -

“Get it from the main vine, all right -”

He releases his hands, rising to a near-perfectly upright standing position as he “surfs” on the bike, letting it glide forward on its own.  The crowd cheers as the cocky jackass even manages a few more of those hip swings in time with the up-down, up-down, up-up-down-down strums of the sitar (which, Gabriel won’t deny, look pretty damn good, even with the kinda bizarre jacket).  He rides out about half of the sitar’s transition into the last part of the song -

But drops back down, landing in the seat.  He revs forward, gaining momentum and swinging the bike back around, gaining speed before he jumps the bike into a long, dragging stoppie -

Pulling back into another 12 o’clock wheelie as the sitar transition flows into the rapid:

“ _La, la, la, la, la, la (Come and get your love)_ -”

The rider drops into another series of quick steps, only these are even faster than before - climbing up, dropping himself to “sit” upright in the seat, only to quickly slide both legs to the right side, climb up again, drop into the seat, slide to the left - all the while popping and dancing his torso along with the beat, moving the bike in a snappy little right-turning circle.

“ _La, la, la, la, la, la - ooooooh (Come and get your love)_ -”

As Vegas’ vocals flow into more freeform singing, the rider “climbs” up the seat one last time, before easily flitting his legs beneath his arms and slinging them over the handlebar, seating himself into one more high chair stunt, wheelie-ing the bike for a few seconds as he crosses his legs languidly.  When he drops the front wheel -

“ _La-di-da-di-da (Come and get your love)_ -”

He lets the bike straighten out briefly -

Before he lifts both hands again, gesturing with “here here” finger motions to the crowd, who readily holler and cheer and applaud for him.

And then

The rider stops

As Gabrielle pauses the video.

“Well?” she asks the team, as they settle back - Reinhardt strokes at his beard contemplatively, as Torbjörn taps at his datapad furiously, writing down his observations on specs and speeds.  Ana flicks her gaze to Gabriel, who exhales slowly before glancing back at the freeze-framed rider.

... _Good execution, good moves, good stunts, good style, good sense of humor, **great** song, good bike, kinda weirdass jacket though_ , Gabriel thinks, running down his mental list before adding with a faint scowl, _...Good performer, good showmanship, good charm…_

Really, the only thing missing is -

 _He did use magic_ , Gabriel considers slowly, _But not a lot, though it **is** hard to tell on a video or holo-projection.  An enchantment?  An illusion?  Some sort of glamor?  It was...more style than substance, so it didn’t really do any of the hard work, which **does** mean he did like 99.9% of it on his own._

Still…

Gabriel’s senses feel a little... _off_.  

Real and unreal and surreal.

It’s not a... _bad_ sort of “off,” not like a malevolence or ill will or violence.  More like...a strange sensation pressing into him, teasing him, taunting him, coy and playful and cocky, goading him into... _something_.

It’s not envy.

Gabriel can do everything that the jackass did only ten times _better_.

_So what the hell **is** it._

Gabriel scowls, more inwardly intense than outwardly, turning the feeling over in his hands like a stone polished by the river’s flow, the edges worn down to silky smooth surfaces, each one blending into the other, round and round and round, eternal, endless.

There’s nothing but silence for a long moment, Gabrielle looking at them expectantly, until Ana finally says, “Alright, I’ll say it.”

The other look at her as Ana sighs with a voice like steel, “...I like him.”

“ _Amari_ -” Gabriel starts to hiss, but Ana just rolls her eyes at him, saying blandly, “Come _on_ , Gabriel - I _know_ you liked his performance too.  I saw you smiling the whole time!”

“I was _not_ -” Gabriel gawks, but Torbjörn snorts, “Nah, ya were gigglin’ like a schoolgirl instead.  Heard it all.”

“ _Listen_ ,” Gabriel seethes through his teeth, “Just because some smug jackass with a nice ass and an ounce of self-confidence gets himself a decent bike and yeah, _fine_ , the song was a _killer_ choice -”

“I have not heard a negative remark in zhere yet!” Reinhardt grins at him.  Gabriel scowl-pouts, muttering, “I called him a ‘smug jackass -’”

“You call _everyone_ a ‘smug jackass’ at some point in time,” Torb snorts.  Gabriel opens his mouth to protest, realizes Torbjörn is 100% right, and says fiercely, “...Alright, fair point.”

“What song was zhat again?” Reinhardt asks thoughtfully, looking at the rider closely but -

“‘Come and Get Your Love,’” Gabriel replies automatically, “Redbone, 1974, famous for how Vegas used an electric sitar, resurged in 2014 when ‘Guardians of the Galaxy’ used it in the opening scene -”

“ _God_ , Gabriel,” Ana sighs and grumbles, rubbing at her forehead exhaustedly.  Gabriel glowers at her, muttering dryly, “It’s a good song, Ana -”

“It’s almost 80 years old!” Ana retorts, to which Gabriel just grits out, “The soundtrack to Guardians is _iconic_ -”

“Focus, team.”

They quiet up immediately as Gabrielle’s invoking voice cuts through them, Ana and Gabriel falling back into their chairs with bitterly friendly glares.  The stunt team leader looks at Gabriel, asking with a little more patience, “...Why do you dislike him?”

“...I don’t _dislike_ him,” Gabriel murmurs, scowling as he tries to sort out his feelings again, “I just...am _skeptical_ about bringing on some random stunt ridin’ kid from the Midwest with no martial arts experience or -”

“He has several years of karate,” Gabrielle says calmly, and Gabriel gives her a pointed look, muttering lowly, “And _how_ do you know that, ma’am?”

“...Are you questioning a sorceress of my caliber, Gabriel?” Gabrielle asks him, but the teasing, sly lilt to her words show that she’s not mad.  Instead, she flicks a bullet list from her datapad to the holo-projector, explaining, “He’s 22 from Bloomington, works for the hospital as a nurse, has experience working on cars and motorcycles, though.”

Gabriel outright frowns -

“- Is experienced in karate, and apparently has a growing regional reputation for these sorts of performances,” Gabrielle continues when -

“And his magic?” Gabriel asks tersely, staring at the list.

Because they all know -

The Strike Team has skills and _skills_.

There’s a short, crisp pause, until Gabrielle says gently, “Witch.  Family is Scottish-American.  Mainly farmers - mostly protective spellcasting, weather blessings, and harvest charming.  Healers, which explains the medical influence.”

“There was an illusion or glamor in there,” Gabriel states, glancing about the table, “Or am I the only one who saw that?”

“No, I caught it too,” Ana says, sighing, “Looked to be more illusionary than a  glamor, but the video distortion makes it difficult to say.”

“We could use a good healer on zhis team,” Reinhardt says slowly, nodding mainly to himself, “I do not know healing spells as much as ze barrier spells, and Torb really does ze armor enchantments…”

“I’ve been working on my herbalist and alchemical potions,” Ana says, but also admits, “But more help would be good, especially when I’m on a remote set.”

“In that case, we should just look into a real trainer,” Gabriel mutters with a sigh, “Why bring on a nurse-witch with a _harvest_ background to a team that needs someone with real training and _real experience_ -”

“Remind me again,” Torb says slowly, giving Gabriel a skeptical look, “How many movies and stunt fights _you_ were in before you joined us?”

Gabriel shuts up at that.

Torb shakes his head, rumbling, “ _That_ ’s what I thought!  This team does not need a full trainer - not when all five of us know our training routines.  What this team needs is a secondary healer when Ana is away, and, more importantly, a new member who will integrate well with the team and help us coordinate and choreograph our concepts.”

“I agree with Torb,” Ana says, staring thoughtfully at the small holographic rider, “This guy knows how to put on a performance, he has a background in stunts and some martial arts training, he knows basic medicine and safety, and while his magic might be...disputable at the moment, he has a persona that clearly shines through his work.”

Gabriel makes a face, before glancing at Reinhardt.  The paladin thinks for a moment, before saying slowly, “Zhis one es ze one I have found ze most entertaining so far.  I say we should at least try to get in contact with him, see what his thoughts are, if he would even be interested in working in Hollywood.”

The entire table looks at Gabriel.

Gabriel scowls, exhaling slowly as he glances at the tiny displayed rider, his hands frozen in the air.

That _other_ feeling - real and unreal and surreal - lingers on the edges of his senses, taunting him, goading him, _teasing_ him -

 _Come and get me_ -

Before he finally mutters lowly:

“Alright, fam - _here’s what I think_ -”

\---------

_Gabriel always starts this story in the same spot: when he first saw my 2052 Midwest Stunt win.  It’s cute.  It’s not a bad start, sure, but he likes to try and cut in that typical horror story narration drama, and let’s be real -_

_We’re all here for the Hollywood clichés and silverscreen dreams, right?_

_Now -_

_It wouldn’t be a clichéd Hollywood story without the young, naive, starry-eyed protagonist showing up with a clichéd song to clichéd, sweeping shots over the San Gabriel mountains and then the skyscrapers and then the beach, etc, etc x10._

_So, let’s start over._

_Cue_ _“[Highway to Hell.”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mBjwMSIC7ik)_

_Alright, cool._

_Now, a shot of our young, naive, starry-eyed protagonist riding his kickass red bike across the different highways of the Valley._

_Now some buttery-smooth cityscape shots - glinting windows on the highrises, the newspaper stands outside the corner stores, the typical shot of the Hollywood sign, sunrise over the Valley, the sky turning from a deep, midnight blue to purple, pink, orange, gold on the eastern end.  Yeah, there are the San Gabriel mountains, little dusty, hard cut against the haze of the sunrise._

_Perfect._

_So, let’s start our little story all over again._

_This is a story of a young, naive, starry-eyed protagonist finding himself called up by a famous stunt performing actress who asked if he wanted to try his hand at real stunt artistry.  He had a steady job as a nurse, a part-time background in fixing up cars at a friend’s garage, and a **long** history with charming water and tricking crows to leave his family’s corn and squash and pumpkins alone._

_So yeah._

_No **shit** he said yes to trying out a new life in Los Angeles._

_He told himself he never wanted fame, or fortune - never dreamed of “striking gold” in California or “scoring silver” on holo-projected screens._

_All he wanted was an adventure._

_And **holy shit**_

_Did he find himself an **adventure**._

_What the people of the Strike Stunt Team didn’t know_

_Is that they were coming along for the ride._

\---------

**Stunt Rider: More Cowbell**

March 27, 2052: 7:56 a.m. - pulling up to the Strike Stunt Team facility in Los Angeles, California

 

Jack eases up on the throttle, pulling in on the clutch as he shifts down into second gear, the bike rumbling contentedly as he rolls into the parking lot of the block of warehouses, his eyes scanning for the circular logo that Gabrielle had sent him.

 _“You can always call my phone if you get lost or something goes wrong,”_ she had said to him the other day when he’d arrived in LA, _“But I will give you the passcode to the facility as well.  And Gabriel’s number, just to be safe.  He is…_ ”

His new boss had paused over the video call between her office in Los Angeles and his apartment in Bloomington, and he’d watched her patiently as she’d thought over her words, before saying carefully, almost _cautiously_ , _“He is not the friendliest person when you first meet him, but he knows the San Fernando Valley better than anyone else on the team.  And he **probably** will not leave you to die if an accident happens.”_

 _The “probably” was really reassuring of her_ , Jack thinks as he winds past one garage door (not the right logo), and then another (also not the right logo) before spotting the white and orange circular...point...thing on the next one.  He pulls into an open parking spot, shifting the gears down into first and then up the half level into neutral, easily propping up the kickstand as he turns the engine off.  He stretches, feeling warm even this early in the day - it’s not nearly as humid as southern Indiana, but after making the cross-country trip on his bike all weekend and then riding around (and admittedly getting kinda lost) on the freeways all morning in his 76 jacket, he’s already feeling the heat rise and stifle his skin.

It’s been one _helluva_ week - after his Midwest Grand Prix win had gone _extremely_ viral (Jack’s accounts had good numbers, but _holy shit_ , his subscribers and followers on three or four different sites had _decupled_ ), Jack’d received a number of business and job offers, mainly to rep motorcycle or bike companies or extreme sporting goods or whatever, and one for That Super Popular Energy Drink which had been _miserably_ tempting.

 _“Lots of world tours, lots of big contests, lots of photographs of you doing whatever tricks you want,”_ a Super Popular Energy Drink representative had said over their video call, _“You’ve got a **great** style, kid, and we **know** you’d be a great fit for us.”_

 _“Uh…”_ Jack had mumbled, trying to remain gracious on the screen even under the onslaught of information and pressure, giving the representative a brightly charming if slightly uncertain smile.  The rep had caught on quickly, saying back, _“Look, no rush, I’ll leave you my contact info.  It’s a big change, I get it, but a guy like you isn’t meant to be just some ‘flavor of the week’ viral clip, you know what I mean?  With us, you could be doing things you never even **dreamed** of, bare minimum.  Think it over, let me know when you’re ready to join us.”_

Jack had thanked him a few more times for the opportunity, the call, the interview, the offer, etc, etc, but after he’d hung up, he’d sat there, just inhaling and then exhaling, thinking it over and over and over -

Feeling the light - the light that eternally rests against his chest - _breathe_ over and over and over with him.

It had been the day after that call, as he was prepping for a morning shift at the clinic, when his phone had rung with yet another unknown number from the Los Angeles area.  Jack had paused, chewing over this thoughts and hesitations, wondering if it was even worth it to answer (he was about five minutes behind his regular schedule - if he delayed much longer he’d be hitting traffic on the 37), before that small part of his brain had whispered, _Fuck it_ , and he’d clicked the green button.

He hadn’t immediately recognized her, but her deep, rich features were distinguished and regal, her eyes alighting with joy when he put her on video chat, as he’d managed to introduce himself, _“Hello, Jack Morrison, how can I help you?”_

 _“Oh!  Mr. Morrison, I am so glad I managed to reach you,”_ she had said with a jovial, cheerful tone - calm but bright, serene but welcoming.  Jack’s smile hadn’t flagged but inside, he’d wondered, _Is she naturally this charming?  Or is something else going on -_

 _“I am Gabrielle Adawe,”_ she’d continued, as pleasant as a cool summer breeze on an uncomfortably warm day, _“I am the team leader and stunt coordinator for the Strike Stunt Team here in Los Angeles, California.  Oh...have I caught you at a bad time?”_

Jack had blinked.  How had she known?

 _“Oh, I’m on my way out, but if you leave me your contact information and a time to call or email you, I’d love to get back to you,”_ Jack had replied as sunshiny as he himself could manage -

_“...Are you stressed, Mr. Morrison?”_

Jack’s facade had almost _shattered_ into pieces over that.

Over the video call, Gabrielle had looked at him with a sort of sympathetic patience, a tender calmness as she’d murmured in that warm, pleasing accent, _“Apologies if I have overstepped my bounds, but you look quite tired.  Please, do not let me add to your worries.  If it is acceptable with you, I will message you my contact information.  Does that sound good?”_

 _She’s...so much nicer than the others_ , Jack had marveled, saying aloud, _“That would be greatly appreciated, Ms. Adawe -”_

 _“Pffft_ ,” she’d laughed, giving him a wonderful, infectious grin, _“Please - call me Gabrielle.”_

Later, on one of his breaks, he’d looked up her name and the Strike Stunt Team, and had been, admittedly, quite shocked to see that they weren’t the Super Extreme Sporting type of “stunt team” -

But a legit, Hollywood, feature films and television series stunt actor association and training group.

He’d looked through her list of credits, recognizing probably 75-80% of her films, thinking, _I watched this one as a kid...and that one came out in freshman year…_  He’d recognized the name “Reinhardt Wilhelm” almost immediately, having watched all of the “Crusaders” television series from start to finish.  He’d known Ana Amari as well, from her killer roles in a number of spy thrillers and action flicks, and while he hadn’t known Torbjörn Lindholm by name, he’d known pretty much every movie the set designer and craftsman had worked on.

And then -

Just as he’d taken a sip from his coffee -

Jack had _almost immediately_ spat it back out -

As he’d scrolled to the last name on the team’s list.

 _Holy shit_ , Jack had thought, his mind reeling as he’d hacked up a lung trying not to choke, _Now **that’s** a name I haven’t seen in a long time._  Jack had paused for a long moment, looking over the last member of the Strike Stunt Team, reading his stunt credits and different stunting wins, thinking quiet, reflective thoughts he hadn’t thought of for years…

Remembering how a certain stunting video had impacted him six years ago…

Jack had called Gabrielle back that evening, and found her incredibly easy and pleasant to talk to.  They’d discussed the typical career for a stunt performer, what Jack’s different “applicable” skills were, the things he’d be willing to learn and try, and on and on and on.  It had been the most unique, interesting “interview” he’d ever had, more like a calm, conversational discussion with a teacher or a mentor than a potential new boss.

And then -

To Jack’s _utter_ surprise -

Gabrielle had just casually dropped:

_“So, Jack - we should **probably** discuss the most important aspect...”_

_Which is the fact that I don’t have any acting experience?_ Jack had thought with slight panic, but he’d managed to act in a fairly controlled and kinda cool manner (or so he’d figured), saying, _“Why, **yes** , Gabrielle, I **will** accept a six-figure bonus.”_

 _“Ah haha, Mister Funny Guy - keep dreaming,”_ Gabrielle had retorted with a wry laugh, but had then said as clear and as easy as daylight, _“I’m talking about magic.”_

Jack had almost _shattered_ again -

Yanking himself out of his memories, Jack pulls himself up and off the bike, letting it rest on the kickstand - the bike is not-so-secretly his pride and joy, a fully-customized build that he’d effectively made entirely “from scratch,” _although, while I’m thinking of magic,_ Jack sighs inwardly, _Like 75% of the bike is conjured and enchanted._  He’d “cannibalized” a Kuro Fire, stripping it all the way down, reinforcing it with both protective gels, sealants, and spells, remodeling and extending different parts of the frame to suit his slightly-larger proportions, fitting it up with a custom crash cage, unique fairings, a larger rear sprocket, a modified tank, the full works.

He’s proud of his nursing experience, _sure,_ but

Let’s be _real_

The bike is his _real_ pride and joy.

Jack pries his helmet off, puffing out a too-warm exhale, the stiff morning air not doing much to help the wilt to his hair.  He kneels, checking it in one of the side mirrors, fluffing it a little more so that it has more of its characteristic unruliness.  But as he assesses it, it decides it _could_ use that extra li’l sumthin, so he flitters his fingers through it once more -

Adding a faint, sunshiny _glimmer_ to it -

Just enough to make it less pale flaxen and more _spun gold_.

Jack double-checks the charm, making sure it’s enough to catch and keep the light, but subtle enough to feel natural (the most important part of “make believe” is the “believing” aspect), adjusting his duffel bag before he tugs his phone out of his padded jacket pocket.  He flicks to the camera, settling on a skeptical, sarcastic tone as he switches to video, starting his clip with a tone _oozing_ casual disbelief:

“Hey, you know that thing they always say about LA traffic?”

He fakes looking at his watch and then glances back at the camera, raising his eyebrows apologetically as he mutters, “Well _fuck_ -”

Except that he deftly clicks the “end” button before he finishes the word.

With a few more quick taps, Jack sets the video to upload on his different accounts, sliding the phone back in his pocket as he confidently heads to the main door.  He strides up the stairs, remembering the passcode easily ( _122776#_ ) as his free fingers dance over the lock.  The lock beeps green, door sliding open a second later and -

Jack pauses.

Gabrielle had mentioned the protective barriers

But not their _sheer intensity_.

 _Wilhelm?_ Jack thinks cautiously, his trained eyes catching the barely-visible strands of woven lights, like blue latticework seen only in sheen, humming a cheerful tune to itself.  He didn’t know much about paladin protectives, but it seemed to fit... _But_ -

 _There’s more_ , Jack susses out, a second that looks like honey and tastes like dewdropped radiance mixed with a touch of cream.  He frowns - there’s a hint of something different there, something he’s not familiar with, but he knows enough basic alchemy and homebrewed potionery to recognize the more subtle, silky layer of smoothed sandstone and streamline steadiness, like a stilled breath.

 _Gabrielle_ _mentioned that Amari knew alchemy and homebrewing_ , Jack thinks, but he’s never seen potionery applied to a protective barrier before.  A unique, deft move, a mixing of styles.

There’s a third one, a glimmering, bright-cast born of sweet earth and welcoming scents - a trick of the senses, perhaps.  It carries Gabrielle’s warmth and her sincerity, but also a teasing, flashing hint of her power, hidden welled in the depths, like spirits worked into the fabric of her protections.  It’s not as subtle as Ana’s, but much like Reinhardt’s it isn’t _trying_ to be.

Jack scowls.

Two “visible” layers, one “hidden” between them.

But _then_.

The _fourth_ one.

Faintest of them all, Jack can’t even _truly_ sense it, not on any normal plane, not even on his gifted, witch-trained sixth acuteness.  It doesn’t _exist_ , it isn’t _there_ \- it is a simple slip of the time or a shifting shadow, so quick and so ordinary that one would _never_ know it was passing over and through and in them.  It is a line in the sand that does not remain, as the wave washes over it and makes it unexist.  It is a whisper that is only the wind in a still, San Fernando morning, when no breeze blows and only background traffic makes sound.  It is obsidian so fine it is clear, crystalline, like the gaps in a glass mesh, air and heat fossilized.

It is not _magic_.

It is _something else_.

Jack’s eyes grow wide as his glare deepens, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as a shiver crawls across his skin and -

_It unknows him as he unknows it and -_

It’s gone.

There are only three barriers.

Jack’s glare eases into a suspicious scowl.  No existing language can describe what he just did not experience.  Even so, he presses a careful, uncertain hand to the light _breathing_ with him beneath the press of his jacket and t-shirt, adding a small thought -

 _This night is eternal and a flame is immortal_ -

Before he steps into the warehouse.

The three barriers know him - he had been added to their fabric when Gabrielle gave him the knowledge of the passcode and he’d sent her his signature and voice recording.  No doubt the barriers will add to their understanding of him over time, weaving a tighter and tighter web so that even a magicked double pretending to be him would not get through, but for now, unknown as he is, the basics will work well enough in the beginning.

Other than that, the warehouse-turned-training-facility is exactly as he expected it: half a gym, half a data-table and computer “lab” set up, with lots of cameras and rigging everywhere, especially on the ceiling.  In a fraction of a second, Jack sees -

A short, stocky man with a bright blonde, bushy beard tapping and clicking and swiping at the computer and holo-projected screens, apparently editing something _fiercely_ as he scowls darkly at the flickering images -

Two figures on the mats of the gym, squaring up against each other in front of a camera - a woman with long, silky back hair and a _massive_ giant of a man with a high blonde ponytail and beard, both of them dressed in tight but athletic training gear, padded in a few places -

Another woman - Gabrielle, familiar to him - watching them thoughtfully from a distance, her face furrowed into a contemplative look.

There’s a tense, still moment of nothingness and then -

“ _HA_!” the combatant with long, dark hair shouts - _Ana Amari_ , Jack recalls - before she _hurls_ herself at the looming man - _Reinhardt Wilhelm in the flesh!_  He whips out an arm with lightning fast movement for a man of his bulk, but Ana expertly flicks her head to the side, “dodging” him with a brief spark of light, and then quickly wraps her own left arm around his right.  A look of shock blossoms across Reinhardt’s face, before Ana launches herself towards him, her forward and left-twisting momentum bringing her right to his face.  She torques her body, rotating her right leg towards his head, “slamming” her knee across his cheek before they both use the motion of the action to tumble backwards onto the mats -

“It is a good start,” Gabrielle says to them thoughtfully, as both stunt performers “collapse” on the blue, padded mats.  The veteran stunt actress walks towards them, leaning over their faces, and Gabrielle grins brightly at them, adding, “But you should be exaggerating the knee motion more!  Reinhardt, really crack your head when she comes at you.”

“Understood, commander!” Reinhardt bellows, even as his breath pops out in short bursts.  Ana laughs cheerfully, saying to their boss, “We’re planning on adding in the tumble into a roll and continuing the line of momentum - should make for a good single shot pan.”

“Excellent!” Gabrielle says happily, clapping her hands as she steps past them, “Let myself or Gabriel know if you require more assistance - ah, hello, you caught us on a busy morning!”

The three of them look up at him, and Jack blinks but gives them a mischievous, crooked smirk, laughing, “We’ve had very different types of coffee, I see.”

“Ha,” Gabrielle laughs boldly, heading towards him as Ana and Reinhardt untangle themselves and get back up.  The stunt team leader and his new boss grins at him, saying with her own wry twinkle in her eyes, “Nothing beats a rush of adrenaline in the morning, son.”

“Now _that’s_ my kind of caffeine,” Jack grins back, holding out his right hand.  Gabrielle takes it warmly, shaking it happily before clapping her left over it with a reassuring pat as she says, “You are in good company then - a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Jack.”

“Oh no, ma’am,” Jack with a big, radiant smile, “The pleasure and honor is all mine.  And I uh -”  Jack glances at Ana and Reinhardt, who are approaching them, and then Torbjörn, who slides himself off his computer chair to also head in their direction, causing Jack to add with a sheepish yet charming grin, “I thought you said I should be here at eight.”

“Oh yes, yes, don’t worry about that,” Gabrielle says, patting his hand once more before dropping it to gesture to her crew members, “We are all just dedicated to our work here, so we all get here bright and early to start our day.”

“Well…” Jack adds with a knowing smirk, “And adrenaline is a helluva drug.”

There’s a loud “HA!” from Reinhardt, a wry snort from Ana, and a sarcastic eye roll from Torbjörn, but none of them seem particularly upset by his joke.  Gabrielle grins at him, saying to her group as she steps to the side, “Everyone, this is our newest recruit, Jack Morrison.”

“Ana Amari,” Ana says, holding out her hand - Jack shakes it, giving her a warm smile, but before he lets go -

There’s a massive _whap_ on his back, almost rocking him forward, as Reinhardt booms, “WELL MET, JACK!  I liked your video - _very_ old school!”

“Thanks!” Jack coughs, hacking up a lung as he straightens up, shifting to take Torbjörn’s outstretched hand.  Jack grins at Reinhardt, saying, “I’m a big fan of the classics -”

“HA!  I feel ze same!” Reinhardt states proudly, as Torbjörn huffs, “Torbjörn Lindholm - what _does_ the 76 stand fer anyways?”

 _...Ah_ , Jack thinks dryly, _Should’ve anticipated that one_.  Jack’s been getting questions like that for as long as he’s had the thing - first from his parents, who were confused over the purchase of the “vintage moto jacket,” then his friends, then fans and followers who saw the video, then prospective employers calling to recruit him to their different sponsorships.

Only Gabrielle had not asked.

“I tell everyone it’s for that classic, vintage, 70’s look,” Jack jokes, releasing Torbjörn’s hand to roll into a relaxed shrug, adding slyly, “But between us, the best songs were released in 1976’s.”

Torbjörn shakes his head disapprovingly, as Reinhardt beams at him and Ana sighs with exasperation, muttering something about “Great - another ‘classic rock’ guy.”  Gabrielle, however, remains silent, giving Jack a long look before she smiles warmly, saying, “Well, a small tour is in order, I think!  As you can see, this is our main facility - we have a standard gym at the far end, sparring mats for practicing choreographed moves, and our computer set-up for editing and technical touches.”

“Be sure ta ask fer permission the first few times,” Torbjörn rumbles at him as the group meanders towards the computer station, Jack’s eyes roving over the high-tech data-table (brand new - the clinic had barely managed to get one last year), the modern holo-projectors, the touch-interface keyboards, the works.  Torbjörn lolls his head on his neck a little as he folds his arms, muttering, “Brand new ‘n I got it all customized to our particular needs - I’ll show ya how ta work it and you’ll be editing demo reels and stunt sequences in no time, but first few times, ya gotta talk ta me before ya begin.  Don’t need a new kid messing with the tools o’ the trade.”

“Yessir,” Jack jokes back, grinning as he catches Ana and Reinhardt sharing “a look” of shared, loving frustration over their coworker.  Jack, however, just layers it on Torbjörn, saying with a slick edge, “It’ll be a real privilege to learn editing from one of the best set designers and CGI wizards in the business.”

Torbjörn waggles a finger in Gabrielle’s direction, murmuring with gruff joy, “...I like this one, Adawe.  He knows what’s up.”  Gabrielle gives Jack a sly, knowing smirk, before she starts moving to the door at the corner, saying, “It appears you have done your research, hmm?”

“I wasn’t gonna move across the country on a whim,” Jack jokes, knowing full well that’s a... _untruth_ on some level, but he grins, saying with an easy casualness, “I mean, I watched all of ‘Crusaders,’ so I knew Rein’s stuff -”

In his peripherals, he sees Reinhardt nudge Ana playfully with his elbow, and the stunt “shooter” rolls her eyes, but smiles all the same -

“But when I saw everyone’s credits, I realized I’ve seen most of your stuff,” Jack continues cheerfully as Gabrielle slides the door open to the interior hallway.  As the small group steps inside, Jack chuckles lowly, “But uh, it _does_ get kinda hard to tell when they put wigs and helmets on everyone.”

“I’ll say,” Ana says with a sigh, “Can’t tell you how many people assume I’m as blonde as Rein is because half my films are doubling for the lead actress.”

“They make me dye my hair red for almost all my films,” Torbjörn grumbles as Gabrielle leads them to the next door on the right, just a little ways down.  The set designer shakes his head gruffly, “Like we all gotta be Gimli or something.”

“Just wait until zhey ask you to dye it,” Reinhardt almost _whines_ , and Jack glances at him as he flicks his long, blonde ponytail over his shoulder.  The giant of a man _pouts_ as he says, “My last one wanted me to go _green_ for an alien -”

“ _That_ one was _hilarious_ , though,” Ana laughs, gesturing to her own hair as she grins at Jack, “One of the showers was basically dyed four-leaf-clover green for two months - the other tenants thought we were killing leprechauns in there.”

“Speaking of showers,” Gabrielle hums, sliding the door open to the room and leading them inside.  It’s a standard locker room, only the lockers are optimistically large in size.  There are two other doors on either side of them, one that reads “Restrooms” and another that reads “Showers.”  Gabrielle guides them to an empty locker, tapping it as she says, “The landlords are very generous and have permitted us to refit this office area into a locker room.  We do share the space with the prop company down the hall, so be aware you may come across some unfamiliar faces in the beginning.  This locker will be yours.”

She opens the door, gesturing to the rather spacious inside as she nods, “Go ahead and leave your stuff.  And -”  With a flick of her fingers, much like a magician pulling a card from their sleeve, she holds out a piece of paper to him.  Jack takes it, giving a quick skim to the numbers (13-10-15), as Gabrielle says cheerfully, “The lock code.”

Jack slides his helmet onto the top shelf of the locker, before pulling his duffel bag over his head and slotting it into the main space.  Gabrielle glances at her team, saying warmly, “Let’s see - most of us keep a few spare towels, some soap, a change of clothes...what else?”

“Biotic prosthetic solution,” Ana adds, to which both Reinhardt and Torbjörn nod approvingly.  The set designer mutters, “Spare change.  Couple of emergency keys to the main room.”

“My hammer!” Reinhardt states proudly, “And my paladin armor!”

“How in the hell do ya _fit_ that in there,” Torbjörn whispers with disbelief as Ana chirps up, “Most of my alchemical gear!  A lot of teas too.”

“We do also have a spare room that’s a mix of…” Gabrielle starts to say, but drifts off, scowling as she picks over her words.  The stunt leader and sorceress hums quietly, “...A storage closet and... _other activities_ room.”

“You know, in my old jobs, when someone said that a room was for _other activities_ ,” Jack says, adjusting his bag a little before he shuts the locker, grinning wryly at them, “That meant something _entirely different_.”

Ana groans as Reinhardt laughs heartily.  Torbjörn shakes his head as Gabrielle bumps his shoulder good-naturedly, chiding him, “Already being cheeky on your first day, hmm?”

“I’m just trying to be forthcoming with everyone,” Jack chuckles, and his new boss sighs, “You are certainly achieving that, my friend.  Here, let’s head to my office and the _other activities_ room.”

As the group turns to leave the locker room, Jack glances briefly at the name on the locker next to his -

[G. Reyes]

Before he smirks a little and follows them out.

Gabrielle leads them to the room a little ways down the hall, saying, “This one is my office - you can always come to me if you have questions or concerns.  We can discuss things in further detail when the tour is over.  This is a very niche industry and it is important to remember that we have some of the greatest stresses, but also some of the best bonds.  And _this_ -” she adds with a little extra flourish, turning to face him by the next door, a sly smile gracing her face, “- Is our _other activities_ room.”

Gabrielle twists her hand with another flourish, making another piece of paper appear, but this one is a little _different_ \- Jack can _sense_ it as he takes it from her, unfolding it, his eyes glancing over the incantation written in dark, silky ink:

[ _O’er we watch_ ]

The paper crumbles into ash in his hands, but as he looks up he can see -

That circular logo with the inward point glitters on the door now, the orange part of it alight as if with fire.

Gabrielle steps out of the way, gesturing for him to go and open it.  Jack flicks a nervous smile in her direction - _did I pass the test?_ \- before he moves towards it, his hand reaching for the otherwise unremarkable doorknob and twisting it -

He _feels_ it _unlock_ \- not just as a door mechanic, but as _several things_ , that slide and shift and transform across several more barriers and then -

He swings the door open.

 _...I guess I did_ , Jack hums contentedly to himself, stepping through the gateway into the room.

The first thing that hits him is the _wash_ of atmosphere, prickling across his skin like a frost that is lukewarm, a sensation that burns chilled, yet not unpleasant, like stepping into a new restaurant with unfamiliar but appetizing smells.  Jack’s eyes drift over the surprisingly large “office” space but -

It is anything but empty.

The room is somehow sleek but homey: in the center of the room is a cleared space with demarcated boundaries, one a square, one a circle, one a hexagon, one a pentagon, one a triangle, the full works, each shape intersecting with the others in soft white lining, vaguely shifting like rippling silk.  There are six hi-tech glass and steel workbenches spaced evenly around the walls, each one set next to industrial shelving crammed full of _stuff_ , anything and everything Jack could ever imagine - one full of tiny trinkets and metallic pieces, some of them whirring with soft mechanical life, glittering and glimmering, different sizes of engraved, shimmering hammers set out in even rows; another one with small rockets that seem to pop and fizz when Jack doesn’t look at them directly, but always in the corners of his eyes, surrounded by pieces of blue-tinted metal sheets and old, leather-bound books threaded with gold light; a third with amulets and charms and ankhs, bottles and jars full of liquids green and gold and blue and black, some sleek and some chunky, some thick and some syrupy, pots and ceramics of dusty, sandy shades with hieroglyphics scrawled across them; a fourth with roots and vines, some dried, some alive, vases full of dirt and petite wooden carvings, aged and lacquered with a sheen that is not entirely _real_ -

And a fifth one...oddly sparse, but perhaps the most mysterious and intriguing -

Several long, tall, unused white candles, interspersed with bundles of dried marigolds and amaranths, bags of sugar and meringue canisters -

A tall, jet-black polished plate, perfectly circular obsidian plate, marbled with streaks of smoke crystallized -

Long, grey and brown and black patterned feathers, arranged neatly and cleanly -

And hundreds - possibly _thousands_ -

Of raw obsidian chunks and worked flakes, some chiseled into beautiful, sleek knives and blades, several of them resting across the shelves and workbench but many of them simply

 _Float_ among the shelving of the fifth workspace, as though they are dark stars or butterfly wings drifting through airy space.

Next to that one, on the far back wall, is an empty workbench alongside empty shelving, as if just waiting for him to move in.  Jack swallows a small shiver of fear and excitement, as Gabrielle says jovially, “As you can see, we each have our own workspaces, but we share the central area for summoning or larger-scale projects.”  Jack steps into the room, his eyes drifting to the ceiling which is -

A projection of the heavens above.

Somehow both dim and bright, the ceiling is _flooded_ with a dusk tinted twilight purples and nightfallen blues, deep and swelled with the current seasonal stars and constellations over the Valley -

Like being back out on the edge of the Empire Quarry, stars above him and stars in the water below and -

“Stunting is a niche industry, and magic even moreso,” Gabrielle continues, voice pleasant with her explanation, “By drawing together a team of talented and gifted individuals, we are able to pool our skills and strengths - in stunts and magic - and protect each other while learning from one another.  We can discuss your magic contracting in more detail later, but the short of it is that, should you wish to offer your _other_ talents on the market professionally, the Valley has no shortage of jobs.”

“I hear you’re pretty good at healing,” Ana’s voice chuckles past him as Jack turns, still looking at the stars - he drops his gaze to hers as he finishes his rotation, and Ana grins at him knowingly, saying, “I suppose we could teach each other a few things.”

“Your supplies look better than what I’m used to,” Jack shrugs, but smiles all the same, laughing lightly, “Although, I’m used to working with modern medicine more than healing, but my mom taught me all that she knew.  But -” Jack flicks his gaze to Reinhardt, asking wryly, “- I thought paladins were supposed to be healers as well?”

“I, uh, ahem - focus mainly on ze barriers,” Reinhardt stammers, but his voice does upswing into pride at the end of the sentence.  The paladin smirks, asking, “Perhaps you noticed zhem on your way in?”

“Oh, I sure did,” Jack grins back, heading back to rejoin them, chuckling, “They were some real fine work there.  I never managed to get my protective spellcasting down - always tended to be more of an offensive than defensive guy myself.”

“Bah, yet another action hero, I see,” Torbjörn huffs, looking a little sour as he mutters, “Everyone wants a flash and bang - no one appreciates the engineer.”

“I’m sure you’re an unparalleled craftsman,” Jack says with syrupy, sugary sweetness and Torbjörn gives him a wry chuckle, murmuring, “Now yer just butterin’ me up - yer fishin’ fer something alright.”

“Me?  Baiting you into something?   _Never_ ,” Jack states with blatant sarcasm, although he technically doesn’t really want anything from anyone.

Not that he ever really has.

In the brief reprieve of the banter -

Jack feels the light against his chest

 _breathe_.

Jack glances over his shoulder one last time, up at the star-studded glass skies, asking softly, “...Who made the star chart?”

“Oh, that was -” Gabrielle starts to say, but her face slides into shock as she jolts a little, before pulling her phone out of her pocket.  She scowls at whatever appears on the screen, before sighing, “My apologies, everyone - I must take this.  Will you three show Jack the garage and then the back lot?  I believe Gabriel is still back there with Guerra.  When you are done, Jack, I would like you to come to my office - we still have much to discuss.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ana says with a sly smirk as Reinhardt gives her a snappy salute.  Torbjörn just mutters, “Good luck, Gabrielle,” and Jack beams a bright, sunshiny smile at her.  Gabrielle twirls her fingers at them, before pressing the accept button and lifting the phone to her ear, heading down the hall to her office as she says, “Good morning, Hal - I suppose you only have good news if you are calling this early?”

The team watches her leave, until Jack feels an elbow nudge his waist, and he turns around to see Torbjörn gesture further down the hallway, saying, “Our garage is this way.”  Jack glances back at the _other activities_ room, before Ana shuts the door, the knob locking automatically.  He trails after Torbjörn and Reinhardt, who lead them to a set of _massive_ docking bay doors.  The set designer snaps in a quick code in the lockpad, and the doors slide open.

The “garage” is actually just a repurposed truck loading and unloading shipping dock, with the rolling garage door down and locked at the other end.  The team stands on a raised receiving platform probably about 3 feet (1 m) high, and in the space where the truck normally backs into -

There is just massive amounts of engineering equipment.

Car and motorcycle parts arranged neatly in one end, partially-finished armor in another section, small cranes and welders in another, a ridiculously cool blacksmithing forge in a different one (it looks to be a portable truck trailer that Torbjörn hasn’t moved in some time), a large, industrial computer station, a bunch of fake (and real?) weapons -

“The garage,” Torbjörn states, as Jack gives a low whistle.  The engineer huffs with ruffles of pride in his voice, “As ya can see, this is mainly fer me ta build unique props, set parts, or working mechanical, uh, _things_ fer movies, but everyone ends up spending some time out here.  Even if ya just wanna mess around with yer bike parts or build a ramp or figure out a new weapon prototype ta practice with, we got pretty much everything ya need fer it here.  Ana and I know weapons, Rein and I know armor, and Gabriel and I know bikes -”

“So what I’m getting is that you know everything,” Jack jokes to him, which gets Ana to playfully whap his shoulder, hissing, “Why do you have to stoke his ego -”

“Damn right I know everything,” Torbjörn snaps proudly as Reinhardt sighs openly.  The Swedish smith twists around, grinning at Jack as he says, “Ya want somethin’ built, ya can come ta me.  I’m usually in here anyways.”

Torbjörn hits the lockpad and the doors slide shut again, before he points to a long hallway perpendicular to the one they’re in on the opposite side of the garage.  The group starts to head down it, with Jack’s eyes skimming some of the labels on the smaller “offices” that line it - a shipping company, that prop company Gabrielle mentioned, an industrial medicine wholesaler -

“Ze exit to ze back lot,” Reinhardt says merrily, pressing a button for the door to slide open.  Jack blinks against the sudden sunlight across his face, as Ana’s voice cuts through his temporary blindness, “You _can_ access this from another road around back, and the whole parking lot loops, but most of us prefer to park by the gym.  And also because -”

Jack takes several steps forward, rubbing his eyes, when a massive hand juts out in front of him, stopping him from his next step and nearly knocking the breath from his lungs -

“Careful zhere!” Reinhardt warns him, as Ana continues dryly:

“- Because you’ll get shit like _this_ in the back lot.”

Jack blinks a few times, his eyes adjusting to the sunlight when he finally sees it -

Several large, bright blue fall mats spread across part of the empty parking lot, with two small but sturdy ramps - barely a foot high - on the left and the right.  There’s a man with dark hair and dark eyes and a dark sweatshirt looking almost _bored_ and deeply _unimpressed_ on the side opposite them, facing left (west), away from the sunlight.  Jack follows his gaze leftward to -

Several hundred feet away -

Sitting on a bright orange and black motocross bike -

Dressed in a motocross biker suit of shifting orange and black patterns -

Is a biker.

Jack blinks once, twice in surprise, before the man across from them sighs, finishes tapping something on his phone, and then lifts his hand in the air, singling the biker.

There’s a moment of tense, still silence and then -

Jack watches as the figure revs the throttle on the motocross bike, before they _rip_ across the parking lot, gunning straight towards the massive free-fall mats and -

Jack’s eyes widen -

The orange of their padded motocross jersey looks _alive_ with the motion -

Like the rider has burst into flames, streaming and flooding across their body and -

They grind right up to the tiniest ramp Jack has ever seen - maybe only a foot, half a foot off the ground but -

They _roar_ off of it, rushing into the air over the mats, popping up up up and -

Jack doesn’t even remember when he took it out, but he’s lifting his phone towards the figure and bike in the sky - bright beneath the flaring, rising sunshine - and as they lean back, their hands release the handlebar with a flourish, arms outstretched like they’re going to embrace the atmosphere.  Jack snaps a quick picture of them tilted backwards almost 135-degrees, only their legs and core strength keeping them on the bike -

Jack never breaks his focus, as the rider continues to “fall” through the flip, completing the rotation before they pull their arms back in and land - _plop_ \- on the plush mats, the front tire taking the brunt of the landing before the back tire slides in after them.  The rider travels only an inch or two further, landing perhaps just a mere foot, two feet away from the actual edge of the ramp -

Exhibiting _tight_ , _perfect_ control

Steeled and steady like _nothing else_ Jack has ever seen.

The rider shifts the bike back down into neutral, before they pry off their orange and black helmet _with a strange, tiny skulled-face guard?_ Jack thinks, but he only catches a glimpse of it before -

The rider lifts it up off their head.

 _...Oh holy shit_ , is all Jack manages to think:

_He looks **way better** in person._

...Which is probably - admittedly - _not ideal_ for someone who works in films -

But it’s _almost impossible_ to describe the impact of Gabriel Reyes in person otherwise.

There is something... _unearthly_ about him, something vividly unreal and surreal about him, his presence, his bearing that does not come across in photos or videos, something that the camera can never capture.  His skin is deep and rich, as if flaked with bronze dust, like a copper lacquer poured into his veins.  High cheekbones and broad nose, as if carefully sculpted by an artist’s exacting hand, help frame the whole structure of his face, giving him a regal, royal bearing, along with a crisp, trimmed beard and mustache.

But it is his eyes -

Jack almost _freezes_ -

As eyes of dark smoke - like obsidian turned to liquid, glassy and yet sleek, swirled yet steeped in shadows - tinted with a backlit gold, like sunlight through a hazy, dim sky, drift over Jack with a languid, easy look -

Before they shift more carefully, more calculatively towards the other man, who is taking several long strides towards Gabriel.

Gabriel’s face fluidly shifts to a scowl-pout as he raises his arms into a sardonic shrug, muttering loudly, “Do you _see_ what I mean?  You’re _never_ gonna get the right amount of distance off a ramp this high, not even _close_ -”

“Oh my _god_ , Reyes -” the man snaps at him, lolling his head even as he continues towards Gabriel, “We’ve been over this _a-hundred times_ \- the gravity of the fall will _help_ you carry your momentum forward -”

“You’re _not_ going to get an exponential increase in forward motion off a ramp this big _even with gravity’s help_ ,” Gabriel states, punctuating each word with an emphatic gesture (even though he is still straddling the motocross bike, his whole body and motorcycle shaking with each hand motion).  The former freestyle motocross champion points (with his helmet in hand) back towards the ramp, adding with a quiet, steely fierceness, “I went _two feet at most_ from the apex of the ramp to my landing on my 450 cc - even with a 600-plus cc sports bike, you’re _barely_ going to get ten feet past the ramp -”

“You have over three-hundred and twenty-five feet of ‘run up -’” the man says with obvious frustration, coming to a stop by the mats.  He folds his arms, scowling darkly at Gabriel as he adds intensely, “That’s _more_ than enough time and distance to get the right amount of speed for the back flip -”

“ _Not to cross a gap of ninety feet!_ ” Gabriel snaps with outright _fury_.  With his free hand, the rider counts off a short list of what Jack can only assume are “technical difficulties” to whatever stunt they’re discussing, his voice twisting with a blatant snarl, “A controlled free fall ride twenty-five stories in the air, on a fucking 650 cc motorcycle, off the side of Lijiang Tower, _and you expect a no-hands back flip over the gap in the building_??  Off a two-foot-tall ramp??  Are you _nuts_ or have you never stunted a bike before, Marc?”

Jack rolls his eyes, glancing at his phone, tapping open his Chirper app.  He snaps the back flip picture to a new post, typing out:

[My new coworker knows how to make an entrance.]

“Bold move, insulting your stunt coordinator, Reyes,” the man - Marc - mutters back furiously, but Gabriel just glowers back, saying just as tartly, “‘Bold move,’ says the man coordinating this hell stunt!  I know you and the director think you can just Ghost Ride this shit and break box offices, but I’m telling you, _this back flip isn’t going to **work** _ \- make it a straight jump and you’ve still got one insane chase scene -”

“This scene is part of the climax of the film - David is _adamant_ about its importance,” Marc states resolutely, but, as Gabriel opens his mouth to fire back -

“Go big or go home, right?” Jack mutters wryly, mainly to Torbjörn next to him, but -

…

A long, tense, awkward silence falls over the whole back lot.

…

Oh _shit_ -

Jack looks up from his phone in time to see Gabriel and Marc staring at him -

“You got something you wanna share with the class, new kid?” Gabriel asks him, loudly and bluntly, which gets a soft, scoffing laugh from Ana and a snort of derision from Torbjörn.  Jack blinks at him once, twice in surprise, before his face twists into a sort of easy, grimacing smile as he hums aloud, “I mean...a straight jump off a side of a building is _okay_ , I guess -”

Gabriel’s gaze narrows - not into an outright glare, but _definitely_ into a deep scowl - as Marc quirks his dark eyebrows high, before smirking smugly as he says, “Looks like _someone_ here appreciates a good action shot.  You stunt, Steve Rogers?”

Jack rolls his shoulders, grinning back with a knowing smile, “That’s what I’m here to learn...but I do know a thing or two about bikes -”

“...You’re that kid from that video,” Marc says suddenly, nodding mainly to himself before he too grins at Jack, adding, “That crazyass Midwestern one.”

“That’s me - the crazyass Midwestern bike kid,” Jack jokes back casually, putting up a careless, effortless attitude, finding the beat in his words easily.  He rolls his shoulders a little, saying coyly, “You’re riding down the side of Lijiang Tower?  And you want a back flip?”

Jack flicks a sly gaze towards Gabriel’s brooding, thunderous look, and the “crazyass Midwestern bike kid” chuckles with a pound of lighthearted nothingness, “You gotta land it right?  Sounds like you don’t actually want a big ramp for that kinda thing.”

A darkly victorious gleam sweeps over Marc’s face, as a mirrored, obsidian-smoke one of _utter bitterness_ drips over Gabriel’s, but Marc just replies to him smugly, “Say it again for the people in the back, you crazyass Midwestern kid.”

“I mean, it’s gonna be less the height of the ramp and more the angle of it,” Jack continues, pointing to the small ramp behind Gabriel, adding smartly, “If you put too much curve on it, you’re gonna get more height for the trick, sure, but you’re also gonna get too far away from the building, and then you’ll _really_ be free-fallin’.  With a low angle and enough speed, you should get long enough airtime to flip without getting out too far.”

And then

Just to add the cherry on top

Jack rolls his shoulders, smirking smugly as he layers on, “Hell, just go all in on the extra-ness and add a rocket or something - pop that shit off with some real _power_ -”

He throws extra emphasis on the last word, directing it to Gabriel, who he _knows_ must catch his _real_ meaning - _add in a burst of gravity-defying magic, make the trick seamless, nail that stunt no problem_ \- even as Reinhardt loudly whoops, “ROCKETS!  I second ze rocket idea!”

“Oh wow,” Marc says with a sardonic lilt to his words, “It even has Mr. Wilhelm’s seal of approval -”

But as the stunt coordinator turns towards the rider -

Gabriel’s eyes -

Flashing with a liquid, vivid darkness

Burning with an unreal and surreal _black fire_ -

Drip over Jack with a distant, otherworldly, calculating _fury_.

 _...Oh shit wait_ \- Jack barely has a second to realize what his smartass mouth has done, before Gabriel rolls his eyes and twists them towards Marc, the rider’s expression a thinly neutral-sneer as the stunt coordinator taunts him, “Sounds like the new kid has more grit than you, Reyes.”

Gabriel remains silent, watching Marc with a bitter coldness.  The stunt coordinator shrugs at him, turning to saunter towards the group and the entrance back into the building, saying loudly for all of them to hear, “You’ve got two months before the Lijiang stunt shooting - I suggest you get your shit together and work with us, or pony up and move on.  I don’t have the time to baby you anymore, Gabrielito.”

Gabriel watches him go, and though his expression is an extremely controlled, neutrally-angry one, his chest heaves a few times as Marc walks past the stunt team group, back into the building.  Gabriel shuts his eyes for a handful of seconds, before he snaps them back open, pulling himself off the bike as he shuts it down.  He starts wheeling it towards them, gaze still roiling with a tense tartness, and Jack starts to offer him a cheesily apologetic, hopefully charismatic smile as he says, “You know how to make one hell of an entrance -”

“So do you,” Gabriel snaps at him, giving Jack a furious look as he wheels the bike past the group.  Ana starts to reach out to him, starts to say, “Gabriel, this is -”

“I _know_ who he is,” Gabriel sneers, parking the bike by the entrance, kicking out the stand.  The stunt rider punches the unlock code in the back door, storming inside and -

The door slides shut behind him.

A long, tense, awkward silence falls over the whole back lot.

“All well,” Ana sighs dryly, as Torbjörn mutters, “Same ol’ Reyes shit.  Let me know when we get lunch.”  The set engineer wanders towards the back door as well.  Jack feels a large hand pat him on his shoulder, and he glances up as Reinhardt beams down at him, “Do not let Gabriel get to you!  He - uh - takes some... _warming up_ , like a bike!”

 _Willing to bet he’s probably a lot harder to ride than a bike_ , Jack thinks dryly, before chuckling internally, _Not that I wouldn’t want to try_ -

“Gonna have to give him a few laps around the track to get used to shifting his gears, huh?” is what Jack actually says aloud, which gets Reinhardt to laugh heartily and Ana to grumble warningly, “You’re not _wrong_ , but _don’t_ say it like that, especially to his face.”

 _See that I won’t_ , Jack taunts to himself.  After all -

If he can charm Death Himself into being his friend -

He can charm _anyone_.

As Ana and Reinhardt move to head back inside, Jack glances at his phone -

Where his post of his picture of Gabriel mid-back flip, arms spread gracefully, like he’s falling from the heavens -

Already has nearly one-hundred notes.

And the top comment reads:

[That’s one hell of a coworker you’ve got there, Jack!]

Jack smirks, typing back:

[I think I’m gonna like this new job.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween and Día de Muertos! Who knows when I'll have chapter 3 done, but MAN, I am gonna finish this come hell or high water.
> 
> \---
> 
> References for Jack's bike: [Source 1](https://www.myg37.com/forums/attachments/non-g-related-items/82325d1255033636-fs-2005-kawasaki-zx636-custom-0806091633-03.jpg) and [Source 2](https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8645/15937251449_65e1496d7b_b.jpg). The black bars on Source 2 are a crash cage.


End file.
